The Gurubashi Druid
by TemplarSword
Summary: <html><head></head>The story of Jarn'dor, and his clan, the Bloodraptor, and their struggles to return to glory.</html>
1. Visions

_The druid gazed upon the Ruinic City, looking around at the towering structures. Adorning them were Trollish hieroglyphs, showing the history of the Gurubashi Empire. The druid walked to them, reading them in order. He saw that the Troll Nations were once together, as one. But at the pinnacle of their power, everything broke apart. One of the most powerful clans remaining was the Gurubashi._

_Everything suddenly moved, the world around him blurring…_

_He was whisked to a great altar in the middle of the city, monolithic compared to the priests surrounding it. As the troll priests chanted madly, a figure began to take place. The being was almost as gigantic as the altar, its form dominating the druid's view. _

_Seemingly from nothing, bones began to form, stretching and morphing into what appeared to be a great bat. Muscle and sinew soon grew over that, as the bones began to move, trampling priests in the monster's desire for a sacrifice. Once the beginning's of skin began to form upon its body, the priests brought forth small bundles, placing the forms upon the altar. One by one, each chanting figure plunged a knife into the bundles, the sound of screaming children issuing forth. After each brutal stab, the great figure grew in height and girth, eventually becoming greater than the altar it rested upon. _

_Once the final child was sacrificed, the skin encasing the gigantic being sealed shut. It stood, bearing its bat-like-face to the Blood Priests. It roared, and the very foundations of the Ancient City rumbled, temples and huts tumbling over as if they were nothing but dust in the wind. The head priest walk forward, bowing his head in prayer. He joined the children, as the other priests bore down upon what would soon be his corpse. The god-like being upon the altar sniffed the air, looking at the new High Priest. As the priest asked his name, the entire race of Trolls, and all of Azeroth could hear the response, that much the druid was certain. "Atal'Hakkar." _

_The scene blurred once again, the druid falling to his knees from the sudden rush of images. He looked up, as a group of armor clad figures approached the blood god, attacking him with insatiable fury. Eventually Hakkar fell to the ground, one plate-clad warrior jumping upon his chest, and piercing his damned heart. The screech of the Blood God reverberated throughout the Troll Capital, the structures of Zul'Gurub creaking from the cry of immortal fury, rage, and death. _

_The scene blurred once again, the druid screaming for these sickening scenes to end. A tribe of trolls walked into the abandoned city. They were not Gurubashi, but they were jungle trolls. They progressed inwards, deep into the city, to the altar where Hakkar had sat. The altar had been destroyed in the death throws of the god, but the Trolls ascended it, some calling upon their voodoo, others calling upon the shadow magic within the altar. _

_Other tribes began to flock to the city, none marked the same. They were all weak, and broken, all small, and few, all ravaged and angered, and all willing to survive. They all flocked to the shattered temples, the ruined huts, and the devastated altar. Every broken tribe threw down their banners and stripped off their paints, and all took the banners and colors of the one; the first tribe to reclaim Zul'Gurub. They took up the colors of…_

"Da Zalandari…"

Jarn'dor awoke from his fitful slumber, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He blinked his eyes once or twice, looking around the small hut. He let out a sigh of relief, the dreams having been all but that. He looked at the troll in his arms and smiled, his woman looking peaceful in her sleep.

Jarn'dor gently set her on the mat and exited the small hut, walking the small distance to the river. The sun began to rise above the mountains within the Barrens, gazelle and lions stirring within their packs and herds. The drowsy troll splashed water on his face, looking into the waters.

He was a good looking troll, his tusks large and long. They were a sign of a great person, and a powerful leader in his culture. Upon his face where the faded marks of the Gurubashi Tribe, the tribe he had been born into. He touched the paint that covered that, the marks of his new tribe, the Bloodraptor. They were small, but determined to make their rise back up through the Troll Tribes and into the eyes of the Horde.

Jarn'dor ran a hand through his green hair, each separate braid twined together with a bone at the end, another keepsake of his birth-tribe. He was well toned, like a runner, but his muscles still bulged out from his blue-green skin. A tattoo wound around his left eye, swinging across his left shoulder and down his arm to his hand. The tattoo was a vine, covered in thick jungle leaves; fruit bat's clinging to the vine or supping upon the sweet and interesting plants.

The gangly troll stood, looking down at his now smaller reflection. Jarn'dor was also a full head taller than most trolls, towering over the Darkspear Chieftan, Vol'jin. It made it easier to traverse the jungle trees, his limbs longer than other trolls as well.

A small little flower attempted to push its way through the plains-grass near his feet, trying to bud in the morning sun. Jarn'dor knelt beside the flower, gazing at it with interest. He cupped the bud in his hands, closing his eyes.

The flower seemed to pulse with the life of Azeroth, as did all living things Druids could interact with. Jarn'dor smiled at this fact, that he had been the first druid born of the Gurubashi Tribe in over a century.

Jarn'dor looked through the plant, saw through its roots and connected with the other plants in the area, checking on them and their welfare. As a Druid who was born in the jungle, Jarn'dor tried to maintain a constant connection with the local plant-life and earth.

The flower seemed to be too weak to bloom in sunrise and so Jarn'dor gave it what it needed; he fed some of his own energy into the flower, and watched, with a smile on his face, as it bloomed, turning into a lovely Mageroyal. The flower seemed to open up and beam as the sun climbed over the mountain tops, bathing the Barrens, and the shoreline of Durotar, in the morning sun.

Jarn'dor turned as his woman walked out of the tent, a sway in her hips. He smiled at Jaz'renthi, pulling her close.

"Ya left, mon," spoke Jaz'renthi quietly, "I dinna know where ya went."

Jarn'dor chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "I just be wakin' up. Ya sleep well, mon?" Jaz'renthi nodded, snuggling into Jarn'dor's chest. "I slept well… I had a really good pillow."

Jarn'dor smiled warmly, thinking back on the dream. He ran over it in his mind, the images of the Hakkar priests murdering children frozen in his mind's eye. The thought frightened him, that his own Tribe had summoned a being of that magnitude to Azeroth. If the Zandalar Tribe, another Troll Tribe who loathed the Gurubashi, hadn't sent adventurers into Zul'Gurub to confront Hakkar...

Jarn'dor was afraid to think of the outcome for the world. But the past was now the past, and Hakkar had been slain. What saddened Jarn'dor the most though, was that the Gurubashi had been nearly wiped out in the assault. He was almost certain that he was a lone Gurubashi now, unless others had managed to get away in the conflict.

"…wit da oda ones we might be able ta find us a place to call da tribe home. Ya payin' attention Jarn?"

Jarn'dor blinked once or twice, coming out of his thoughts. He looked at Jaz'renthi, her face filled with worry. "Ya be okay? I neva seen ya like dat."

He sighed, closing his eyes. "I had a bad dream last night… Just nonsense do'. Notin ta be worried about." Jaz'renthi shook her head. "Now I be worried… Come, ya tell me about it." She pulled Jarn'dor into the tent and sat him down. They talked for a while, about his dream and tried to divine it.

"Don' ya see?" exclaimed Jaz'renthi, "Dis could be a vision! We be druids, we canna' just let it go. Ya need ta go ta Zul'Gurub and see about dese oda tribes!"

Jarn'dor sat cross-legged, shaking his head. "Dat place be tainted wit Hakkar's blood. I no be goin wit'in fifteen fadoms o' dat place."

Jaz'rethi scowled. "Wat if dis be a vision? Huh? Dis could be ya chance ta be a hero! Ya could save hundreds o' lives!"

Jarn'dor sighed, knowing that Jaz'rethi was right. Even if he didn't want to go, he knew she was right. If this was some sort of army, it could threaten the world. "A'right mon… I be goin to Zul'Gurub den."

Jaz'rethi immediately smiled, cuddling up to Jarn'dor. "Look at da bright side, if ya dreams be wrong, we got notin' ta worry about."

* * *

><p>The sun rose high as Jarn'dor perched above the small village of Razor Hill. He had set out the day before, meaning to get to Orgrimmar before nightfall. He did not, however, anticipate how far the river had seeped into the Southfury Watershed… Jarn'dor ended up coming out wetter than he had been when he had swam in the ocean.<p>

He sighed, clearing the thoughts from his head. He needed to focus right now. He opened his eyes, looking at the barren land of Durotar. Jarn'dor did not enjoy this home. He preferred the tall jungle trees and the ruins of other cultures… Not mountains and cracked plains. Not even a Gnome would find these appealing.

Perched upon his staff, high upon the guard tower, Jarn'dor laughed. Even the gust couldn't blow him off his weapon, perched upon the vertical stick with one foot. He had the other crossed over it, hunched into a sitting position. He wasn't sure why, but he meditated best in this position. Down below him, a small group of trolls was forming, and among them, a proud, blue crested troll talked.

Jarn'dor instantly recognized him, for they had nearly killed each other two days before…

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor entered the tent, getting out of the rain shower. He looked around at the other trolls, all part of the Bloodraptor clan. He immediately spotted Jaz'renthi, and gravitated towards her. They smiled at each other briefly before the Clan Chieftain began to talk.<p>

The troll was almost as tall as Jarn'dor, with a crest of dark blue hair on his scalp. His face was splashed with white, bordered with a dark purple color. Behind him, stood his Voidwalker slave, the demon grumbling about its issues.

Zi'bal talked over the other trolls, getting them to be silent. He talked about a rival clan, and how they were acting around the other Bloodraptors.

"Why don we just talk to dem?" said Jarn'dor from the back, the crowd parting to point out the speaker. Zi'bal scowled at him before continuing on, talking how they should be dealt with.

Jarn'dor sighed. "Chieftain mon, why don't we just let da youngbloods know how dey should act?"

Zi'bal locked eyes with Jarn'dor, ripping a wicked looking scythe from his back. The crowd began to murmur, as Jarn'dor settled into a crouch, pulling out what appeared to be a large thorn from underneath his cloak.

"I don like ta be questioned, mon," said Zi'bal through clenched teeth, "'specially from a Gurubashi." Jarn'dor narrowed his eyes, but began to talk calmly; using an old suggestion technique he was taught by his Druid Master. "Look mon, I just be offerin' mah suggestion. No questioning here."

The two trolls held their stances for a few moments longer, until Zi'bal put his scythe away. The crowd folded back around Jarn'dor as he dropped his thorn, letting it sink into the ground. Jaz'renthi quietly grabbed his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

After the meeting, Jarn'dor stood outside, watching the sunset. Zi'bal parted the tent flaps, looking at Jarn'dor. "Ya be claiming Jaz'renthi as ya woman?"

Jarn'dor looked at Zi'bal quizzically. "Ya… Why mon? No offense, but she don't be seemin' like ya type."

Zi'bal remained stoic. "She be mah sista. And if ya eva hurt her, I be sure ya be da next sacrifice on mah altar, mon."  
>Jarn'dor knew what was happening to his eyes, as if they were filling with venom. He could see the slight shock in Zi'bal's eyes. "And if ya eva hurt her, chieftan, all da venom in da Vale look like a nice little medicine compared ta what I'll put in ya veins."<p>

The two held their ground for a time, until Zi'bal returned inside the tent, letting the flap smack against the tent loudly…

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor shook his head, clearing himself of the memory. He watched Zi'bal mark the new trolls with their tribal paints, eventually dismissing them.<p>

Jarn'dor respected the warlock, and trusted him as a leader, but so far, he wasn't a fan of the dark haired troll. He knew that the Chieftain might one day jump to a horrible idea, and so far, from his talks, Zi'bal seemed focused on getting power for the clan, which didn't seem right to Jarn'dor.

As the sun set and the moon rose, Jarn'dor simply fell forwards, kicking the staff into his hands and landing in a crouch, twenty feet down from where he was perched. The druid waited for a while, until the stars came out. He quickly began to map his route to Orgrimmar, walking through the Drygulch Ravine.

On the other side, Jarn'dor could see the Dranosh'ar Blockade. The newest fortification the Orc Warchief, Garrosh Hellscream, had put up. Jarn'dor walked past the metal monstrosity, and pushed past the traders and beggars into the rumbling metropolis of Orgrimmar.

Jarn'dor knew his mouth must have dropped, for the city was incredible. While the buildings were now jagged with the metal and fortifications the new Warchief had decreed, the people were by far the most interesting.

In one corner of the valley, goblins were auctioning off items of great rarity and value, while in another, smiths were pounding out the shapes of armor. Hunters were gathering around fires, telling stories of their adventures, while warriors sparred in the streets, crowds cheering them on as day turned to night in the city.

The most curious thing Jarn'dor saw, were elves. Blood Elves entering and exiting the Warchief's hall, probably as emissaries, or ambassadors. A few goblins trickled back home to the newest slums in Orgrimmar, while some Forsaken moved in and out of the crowd, cutting purses and pick pocketing poor people.

Jarn'dor walked through the bustling city, eventually arriving at a sheer cliff face. He looked to his right and saw some kind of tower. He walked in, and the entryway slammed shut, the wooden floor rising up through the tower. Once it reached the top, Jarn'dor was treated to a real sight, the whole valley from a sky view.

Up on the Orgrimmar Skyway, people traded mounts and caught Wind Rider's to villages. At the highest point of the Skyway, were Goblin Zeppelins which rode to specific points. Some went to the Tauren city of Thunderbluff, while others went over the ocean to the Forsaken's Undercity. A few went to the wintry continent called Northrend, and one went to Stranglethorn Vale, where Jarn'dor was headed.

Jarn'dor ascended the zeppelin tower, finally arriving at the very top. A small goblin was barking orders to the others, grumbling in its strange language. The small goblins, and a large pinkish one, went to work on a zeppelin, fixing it.

"All aboard for Grom'Gol in Stranglethorn Vale! Come on now, all aboard!" Jarn'dor nearly sprinted across the small platform, getting a place on the zeppelin. He went below the deck and set down his bags, watching the goblins run around, tightening blots and preparing the aerial behemoth.

With a mighty lurch, the zeppelin moved free from the dock, setting sail from Orgrimmar.

"You know what, man," said one of the Goblins on the deck above, "This time, I really hope we don't explode again…"


	2. Blood and Thunder

The zeppelin splurged on through the night sky, the only person above deck being a lone Sen'jin Watcher. He gazed about, admiring the stars and their canvas in the sky. The watcher smiled as he recognized each constellation. One was Akama's fang, another Hakkar's Wing.

The watcher looked down below at the sea, glad that they had passed through the turbulent Maelstrom a few days ago. The winds could have torn the goblin ship asunder. But with the tailwind they had when they exited, they had covered far more ground faster than if they had gone around the Maelstrom. At this pace, the zeppelin would make it to Grom'gol before noon.

A flapping noise drew the attention of the Watcher away from the ocean, looking around. After a few moments all was quiet, and the troll passed it off for the propeller acting up. He admired the sky once again, finding his favorite constellation, the Loa Circle.

The airship suddenly leaned left hard, nearly throwing the Watcher off the deck into the churning sea below. He held on for dear life, screaming in terror. A great roar issued from under the zeppelin, drowning his cries out. The watcher was suddenly ripped from the deck, and thrown into the mighty maw of an unforeseen catastrophe.

"Attention passengers," crowed a goblin voice that stirred Jarn'dor from his slumber, "We are now under attack by a Black Dragon. Due to their violent and destructive nature, we are asking all passengers to remain calm…" At this, the assorted passengers screamed in terror, pushing each other as they all scrambled for an escape, their screams lost as the dragon roared again. Sen'jin Watchers propelled themselves up the stairs, weapons in hand.

Jarn'dor grabbed his staff, running up to the top deck. "If at this time you would better take your chances with the ocean," hollered the goblin," You may jump into the ocean directly below us. Parachutes will NOT be provided. Thank you for flying Air Kezan in our now somewhat stopped trip to Grom'Gol."

As the druid came up topside, the shredded corpse of a Watcher slammed into him, sending him flying into the rails. As Jarn'dor pushed the poor troll to the side, what he saw nearly had him jumping off the zeppelin as well.

At the bow of the airship, was a fully grown Black Dragon, slaughtering the Troll Guardians. It was bigger than the airship, its wings blocking out the moon's light, casting the zeppelin into shadow. It's black, armor-like scales protected its flesh from the spears of the trolls, while its maw and vicious talons decimated their ranks.

Jarn'dor watched as the dragon swallowed the last of the Watchers, looking for something to defend himself with that was better than a simple staff. He looked at the shredded troll that had bowled him over, and reached for the spear in its grasp.

"Mon…" whispered the troll, somehow still clinging to life. "Mon…" Jarn'dor leaned close, to hear the dying trolls final words. "Mon… Dat monsta… Killed mah brederin'… Mah friends… Avenge me, mon… Take mah spear… And mah sword…" From underneath the ravaged armor, the troll brought forth a curved blade, pressing it weakly into Jarn'dor's hand. "Kill dat beast….and get….revenge…for us all…mon…"

What was once a troll expired in Jarn'dor's arms, his weapons now in the druid's hands. Jarn'dor tucked the blade into his belt, brandishing the spear at the great behemoth.

The colossal villain looked at Jarn'dor, now the last living troll on the deck. "**You think you can hurt me, little troll?**" roared the Dragon, its eyes filled with the grim joy from its easy kills, the corpses of it's victims scattered across the deck, others plunging into the ocean far below. "**You and all your kind will burn under the Patriarch's flames! NOT EVEN THE NEW EMPIRE WILL SURVIVE!**"

Jarn'dor wasn't sure what the dragon meant by a new empire, but he would avenge the fallen Watchers. Between the zeppelin's aimless flight, and the gale-force winds caused by the dragon's winds, Jarn'dor was nearly thrown about like a leaf in a storm. With a wild roar, he flung the spear without aim, losing his footing and flying backwards, slamming against the propeller's housing on the airship.

The spear flew from the troll's hand, directed by nothing but fate. The flying weapon drove itself within the dragon's eye, ripping a scream from the beast's throat. "**RAUGH! YOU WILL PAY FOR THAT, INSECT!**" The monolithic creature released the zeppelin from its deadly grip, the goblins and passengers below deck cheering in relief.

The Black Dragon's roar had filled Jarn'dor with courage, and the druid ripped the sword from his belt, running at the flailing dragon. Bound by the promise of revenge, he threw himself from the zeppelin, landing on the beast's mighty face. He ripped the spear from the great colossus' eye, tearing the orb from its master's socket.

The winged predator roared in absolute agony, spewing liquid fire from its gullet. Jarn'dor pivoted upon the dragon's snout, driving the bloody spear into the dragon's other eye. The druid tore out the bloody shaft, two golden orbs impaled upon it. As the beast opened its mouth to again make its pain known, Jarn'dor leaped into the gaping maw, driving the sword into the dragon's throat. As he fell, his blade ripped through skin and muscle, filling the dragon's throat with blood.

The druid fell continuously downward, finally hitting a fork in the road. He ripped the blade from the dragon's windpipe, and drove his bloodied weapon directly forward. With great effort, Jarn'dor cut his way through skin and muscle, finally reaching the great cavity which held the monster's heart.

With a mighty scream of triumph, Jarn'dor plunged the weapon into the dragon's heart again and again, tearing and rending the mighty organ. The powerful heart exploded, spraying blood all around the gigantic chest cavity, covering Jarn'dor in the life of his gargantuan kill.

As the dragon's corpse plummeted earthward, the druid pushed past the shredded remains of the heart, hacking at the flesh, attempting to claw his way out of the abyssal cavity. He drove the bloodied tool through the final layer of skin, pushing apart the black scales and creating a gap large enough for him to see through.

Jarn'dor looked through the gap as the body of the colossal monster slammed into the earth, Jarn'dor's head smashing against the rock hard scales, and sending him into darkness.

* * *

><p>It was daylight when the druid awoke, struggling under the weight of the shredded heart. He looked through the gash in the corpse's chest, peering between the midnight-black scales. With great effort, he pushed the gargantuan organ off his body, standing. The sword was gone, most likely having slipped through his exit in the collision.<p>

Jarn'dor grabbed both edges of the dragon's skin, pulling the wound apart. He could only budge it an inch before his arms screamed in pain, his muscles seething. The druid released his grip, falling backwards into the heart. He sighed, pondering his predicament.

"Good job, Jarn'dor. Leap into a dragon and become a hero… Den end up stuck where it's 'art used ta beat… Brilliant, mon…" The forlorn Troll gazed through the tear he had made passing through the behemoth chest, deciding to exit that way.

He crawled up through the windpipe, hearing screams down the other passage. After a quick deliberation with himself, he hurried down the beast's gullet, finding a lump of skin blocking his path. He pried it apart, and found himself looking down into a cavern, the floor covered in a pool of water. "Hey dere mon! Help me! HELP ME!"

Jarn'dor looked over at the voice, a troll thrashing in the water, its skin liquefying and disappearing into the cavern. The troll screamed unintelligibly, twitching in the water. The druid blinked in horror, suddenly realizing where he was; he was in the stomach of the Dragon. The water wasn't water, but stomach acid. And the troll was a dead man.

Jarn'dor turned and walked away, as the troll's screams began to die out, his voice joining his melted flesh. The druid pushed his way up, up, and up, finally crawling out the monster's mouth, pushing past the rows of razor sharp teeth. Jarn'dor collapsed on the outside; finally realizing he was still covered in blood. He looked up, and saw the canopy of Stranglethorn Vale. He chuckled, laughing at how he had killed a Black Dragon, and still arrived at his destination.

The druid took a few deep breaths, weak after his battle with the beast, and his escape. He became afraid as his mind slipped away, falling into unconsciousness. As he blacked out, two figures pushed through the surrounding the druid, murmuring in deep, thick voices. Jarn'dor could feel them lifting him up, and he knew nothing more.

* * *

><p>"He's been unconscious for days… I doubt the troll will be walking around again…" Jarn'dor groaned, listening to the voices surrounding him. "Shut up Nek'tan. Last troll you said wouldn't be walking managed to kill a Dreadlord. This one should be alright."<p>

_Jarn'dor slipped back into unconsciousness, visions assaulting his eyes. He saw a group of trolls, standing around a fire, one turning his back upon the group. _

_"Vol'jin. Ya turn ya back upon ya people!" roared one troll._

_"…Da Horde, be mah people now," replied the Darkspear Chieftan, "If ya be startin' war, I be fightin' wit dem…"_

_The visions changed again, Jarn'dor looking back upon an old city, far away in some distant forest. A green forest troll stood upon an altar, four Loa looking down upon him, turning their back on him. An armor clad Blood Elf raised his blade, and impaled the scarf-wearing troll._

_The druid was unable to escape the shifting scenes, slamming his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to block out the sounds. He was treated to dreams and nightmares, horrors and beauty._

And then he woke.

Jarn'dor looked around the small hut, trying to move. He found he was too weak to even twitch, let alone move. The weakened druid moaned, trying to push himself into a sitting position. His body screamed in pain, refusing to move. Jarn'dor bared his teeth, and fought through the pain. After what seemed like an eternity and a half, he managed to sit up, resting against a wall in the hut.

An orc walked in, blinking in surprise. "Oh," said the deep-throated orc, "You're awake. Good." Jarn'dor nodded. "Mon… Where be I? Last I remember I was… Outside."

The orc nodded. "You're in Grom'gol stranger… I brought you here with my comrade after we found you."

"How long…How long have I been out mon…?"

"Two days…Did you…Did you kill that beast?" Jarn'dor chuckled, remembering the behemoth. He gave a weak nod, the orc's jaw dropping.

"You're lucky to be alive, Troll."

"Me name be Jarn'dor, mon." The orc nodded. "And mine is Nek'tan. So tell me troll, why the fel did you pick a fight with a Black Dragon? I mean, were you trying to commit suicide?"

Jarn'dor chuckled. "Da beast attacked a zeppelin 'eadin to hea." Nek'tan nodded, smiling slightly. "That Zeppelin arrived a few hours ago… Those people owe you their lives." The druid sighed. "Dey be owin' me notin'… I just be puttin' spirits ta rest."

Nek'tan nodded, but his body language showed he disagreed with Jarn'dor. "Alright… You'll need to stay here for a while, before you continue on to wherever you're going."

Jarn'dor sighed. "Gotcha… But I need ta be goin' as soon as possible, mon… I be headed to Zul'Gurub." Nek'tan instantly froze, looking at the Druid. "Zul'Gurub… Are you mad, Troll? That place is cursed!"

The orc made a futile attempt to talk Jarn'dor out of it, but the druid simply shook his head. After a while, Nek'tan finally sighed. "Troll, I can't let you go alone. I'll be going with you. You need someone to keep you safe while you're weak.

" Jarn'dor nodded soberly. "A'right mon… But I warn ya, we not be safe when we enta da city…"

"I'll be alright. I'm an orc. Safe, is not our style."

Jarn'dor leaned back against the wall, chuckling as Nek'tan exited the hut, leaving Jarn'dor alone with his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Three days later, Jarn'dor and his companion left the village, and headed to Zul'Gurub. They trundled through the jungle, cutting a swath through the thick foliage with Nek'tan's battle axe. Jarn'dor constantly thought back to his visions, wondering why he was getting them now, and never before.<p>

Nek'tan held up a hand, a hunting signal for the pair to stop. The orc pointed ahead, a large object blocking the path. It was swathed in the jungle's native plants, hiding its identity. Jarn'dor pushed through the dense vegetation, and cleared off the vines from the statue, revealing a Gurubashi statue.

"Dis mark da paths to da city… We be close mon…" Nek'tan cocked his ears, bearing his teeth. From down the path, the sounds of people talking were coming closer and closer.

Jarn'dor leaped up into the trees as Nek'tan jumped into the bushes, both poised to strike. Two Frost Trolls rumbled down the path, both talking to each other.

"Mon, da Zandalari be powaful… We canna defy dem."

"Ya tribe gonna ally wit dem?"

"I dunno, mon. I be waitin' till da speech taday. Dey say da Zandalari and dere leada gonna talk to all da trolls before we be splitin' up and headin' to da capitals."

"Heavy stuff, mon."

"Aye… Heavy stuff…"

The two trolls continued on down the path, Jarn'dor jumping down from the trees. "Da Zandalari… Mah visions be true…" Nek'tan stumbled out of the bushes, looking at Jarn'dor. "What now?"

Jarn'dor sighed, thinking. "Mon, I need ta be seein' what's going on in Zul'Gurub. We need ta be goin' in."

Nek'tan's jaw dropped. "Are you insane? From what those trolls said, multiple tribes will be there. If they find spies there, we'll be skinned!" Jarn'dor turned, staring the orc in the eyes.

"Mon, if mah visions be right, den dere be war brewin," said the druid, a scowl on his face, "We need ta find out what da trolls be plannin'. Ya in, or ya out?"

Nek'tan looked down at the ground. "I said I'd go with you, and that I would protect you. I'll go into Zul'Gurub… But what's your plan? We can't just walk in."

Jarn'dor, thought for a moment, and pulled a cloak out of his bag, smiling.

* * *

><p>The druid sat atop a great pillar, inside Zul'Gurub. He looked around the valley, spying his orcish friend. Nek'tan had taken the cloak and thrown it on. Once he pulled up the hood, he looked like a small Berserker Troll, blending into the crowd.<p>

Jarn'dor scanned the Gurubashi Capital, looking at all the troll tribes. There were too many too count, the crowd in constant motion as they filed into the city. The druid lost sight of his comrade, the earthy brown of his cloak lost in the sea of bodies.

The Trolls crowded around a great altar, where the Blood God once sat. Three figures ascended the altar, one a forest green, the other two a pale blue.

One troll came to the forefront, wearing the colors of the Zandalar Tribe. "Brudda's and Sista's!" The crowd became instantly silent, waiting for the troll to continue. "We be on da verge of a new age! Da age of da Trolls!" The sea of trolls cheered, their voices shaking the pillar Jarn'dor was standing on. He leaped from it, running across the roofs of huts, statues, and finally landing closer to the altar.

"We were once a great people," cried the Zandalari, "Our mighty empia stretched from Zul'Gurub to da fa north! Look at our people now! Zul'Drak, fell to da Scourge! Zul'Aman fell to da elves! And Zul'Farrak is now just a wasteland in da desert." The crowd was unbelievably silent; hanging on the troll's every word.

"Our people be divided! We must come tagetha' ta survive! Ya all be knowin' dis! Togeda, as one empia, our race may flourish, and we shall regain da land we lost to da humans, da elves, and da oda races of Azerot'!" The crowd cheered, this one troll working them up expertly. His voice suddenly went from a shout, to a seething hiss."But dere are dose who would see us destroyed! Dose who would ally wit dese unwordeh races against us!"

Jarn'dor leaned forward in his spot, listening intently. The Zandalari troll moved forward, as the other two trolls stepped aside, a power growing on the altar.

"Vol'Jin and his Darkspea be allyin' wit da Horde against us!" The crowd booed and jeered, earning a nod from the Zandalari. "But dey not be makin' a difference against us! We have powa dat da rest o' Azeroth can only dream of!"

The power from the center of the altar grew, taking a faint form. It looked suspiciously like… Jarn'dor gasped. The form looked like Hakkar.

"Wit dis powa, we make our kingdom strong again! Da Amani and da Gurubashi be givin us homes, and we be usin' dese homes, and growing! Zul'Aman and Zul'Gurub will only be da staht of our powa!" The trolls cheered, the power growing. Over the cheers of the trolls, a booming voice issued forth.

"**Spies and traitors be among you all! Orcs and Darkspears hide in your ranks!**"

The Zandalari on the altar looked at the power, and began immediately scanned the rooftops. Jarn'dor began to leap to another roof, but he new he had been found out.

"Dere be a troll on da rooftops, kill da spy!" The angry crowd surged, trying to run to the exit in the crammed space. Jarn'dor looked at the crowd, and spied Nek'tan pulling out his axe. He could faintly hear the orc's battle cry, the sound of screaming and fighting issuing from near the altar.

Jarn'dor made a final leap, landing at the gates of Zul'Gurub. He quickly climbed over the gates, barring them shut with a fallen log. The druid leaped down the steps, his companion forgotten. As he ran for the pathway to the jungle, a wooden gate slammed shut, barring his way.

Jarn'dor spun around, as a giant form rushed at him. The druid leaped to the side as a Berserker Troll slamming into the gate. The Berserker was well muscled, his skin nearly tearing from the sheer mass. The Troll had to hunch over like an ape, its knuckles dragging across the ground. Its eyes looked like they were rolled back into its head, showing nothing but the whites.

The Berserker roared unintelligibly, charging at Jarn'dor wildly. The druid stood his ground, as his form began to change. Sea green hair began to sprout from his skin as his shoulders grew in size, his face elongating and stretching. Claws grew from his hands, as his limbs shortened. Jarn'dor was no longer a troll, but a great bear!

The Berserker was nearly upon him, and the bear stood, slamming its paws against the Troll's chest, holding it back. With one push the gigantic troll flew backwards, smashing into the gate. The bear charged, slamming his shoulder right into the Berserker's gut. The gate splintered as the gargantuan troll tumbled out, the bear letting out a roar of victory.

The bear shifted form again, returning to Jarn'dor's gangly body. The druid stepped over the unconscious Berserker, looking back at the city. All he could hear was the sound of trolls roaring and screaming, unable to chase the spy. The druid ran, sprinting towards the jungle.

Zi'bal needed to know… Everyone needed to know.


	3. Memories

_Jarn'dor opened his eyes, and realized he was chained to a great stone altar. He struggled against his bonds, mighty chains pinning him down. He felt his body twitch and grow, turning into that of a bear. His bonds snapped easily under his new strength and Jarn'dor once again became a troll. The druid rose into a sitting position and looked around. He was in the center of Zul'Gurub, and its inhabitants quickly ran to the altar. _

_Trolls swarmed in from all sides, yelling and screaming at him. Jarn'dor stood up, leaping off the altar. He jumped into the crowd, pushing and shoving, trying to scrabble his way out of the sea of bodies. He ran, his feet propelling him forward, his heart racing. _

_Jarn'dor quickly outran the crowd, leaping onto the great stone buildings. As the crowd vanished behind him, he dropped from the monoliths to the ground, stopping to rest against a wall. As he caught his breath, the wall suddenly turned into a barricade, spears lining the top. Upon those spears were skulls from the victims of the Zandalari Empire. _

_"Left him to die…" Jarn'dor looked around, unsure of where the voice had come from. He turned around, one skull's jaw moving. "Left him to die… You left him to die…" One skull took up the chant the chant, and then another, and then another, until every skull in Zul'Gurub was roaring the chant, their voices screaming and rasping. _

_The young druid clamped his hands over his ears, trying to futilely block out the sounds. The skulls ripped themselves free of their tethers, screaming their chant. "Left him to die! YOU LEFT HIM TO DIE!" _

_Jarn'dor ran blindly, trying to escape his undead pursuers. He leaped over trees, ran through buildings, and still the words and bones followed him, never ceasing their maddening chant. _

_He looked ahead, the entrance gate barred shut. Tied to the gate was not a lock, but a body; the body of Nek'tan. His limbs were chained across the gate; as was his torso. The skulls chanted, their cry boring into the troll's brain. Jarn'dor looked up at the corpse, and watched as its eyes opened. Nek'tan looked at Jarn'dor, and roared above every other skull:_

_"You left me to die!"  
><em>

Jarn'dor awoke with a scream, clutching his blanket in a death grip. Jaz'renthi sat up, looking down at her mate. "Jarn! Jarn! What's wrong?"

The troll put his heads in his hands, taking deep, panicked breaths. He was visibly shaking, his eyes wild and unfocused. The dream had been reoccurring over the last few nights, getting worse and worse with every reincarnation. Nek'tan's body chained to the gate had not changed though, that part remained as chilling as ever.

Jaz'renthi hugged him tight, her flesh warm against his. "Jarn… Was it da dream?" Jarn'dor could only nod, still too overtaken with terror. Jaz'renthi sighed. "Ya need ta get dis looked at… Maybe da Witch Docta's be-"

Jarn'dor suddenly stood, pulling out of her grip. "No… I just need ta tink for a while..." The troll hastily pulled on his clothes; leaving the hut he and Jaz'renthi had slept in for the last few nights, consecrating their love within it. The small hut was on an isle separate from the Echo Isles, but Jarn'dor walked to the main island anyway, the sun still many hours away from rising.

The druid sat down upon the shore of the main isle, crossing his legs. He began to breathe deep, entering a meditative state. He tried to go through the events of the last week, allotting everything that had happened once he had returned from Zul'Gurub. The first memory that came to his mind was the marking…

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor was barely conscious, standing near the pool in Sen'Jin Village. He had returned from Stranglethorn Vale just a few hours ago, running to the village when he heard there would be a marking. Slowly, but surely, the Bloodraptor Clan filled up the small village, Zi'bal arriving last.<p>

The druid nearly leaped upon the Chieftain, pulling him aside as the New Bloods began to line up, directed by another troll. Zi'bal scowled at the druid. "Watcha want? I be on a schedule, mon."

Jarn'dor knew he must've looked exhausted, and wild, but he pressed on. "Mon, dis be important. Dis could be changin' everytin'." He quietly whispered a condensed version of what he would later tell the others, and Zi'bal's eyes grew in terror. The Chieftan pushed the druid away, reorganizing his face into a calmer appearance. "We be talkin' about dis lata. Dere be notin' we can do about it. Not when da whole clan is hea."

Jarn'dor scowled, but nodded. "A'right. But I-" Zi'bal was already walking away, preparing to mark the New Bloods. Jarn'dor pushed his way through the crowd, surprised by the amount of Clan members who had attended. He spied Jaz'renthi, quickly slipping through the crowd toward her.

She smiled, quietly taking his hand in hers. "Welcome home… What's wrong?" Jarn'dor watched Zi'bal begin to mark the new clan members. "Da visions were true…" Jaz'renthi blinked in shock. "Dat…Oh no…"

Zi'bal finished marking the new trolls, the clan cheering. "Welcome to da Clan, Bloodrapta Warriahs," began the great troll, "Tanks ta ya, we be bolsterin' our numbas!" The crowd cheered. But Zi'bal looked at the pool, becoming quite sullen. "We be goin' ta need dem…" The Troll's cheers died out, all of them suddenly becoming very confused by their chieftain's sudden change in disposition.

"Screw what Zi'bal wants." muttered Jarn'dor, "Dey deserve to know," He pushed through the crowd, trying to get out front to Zi'bal. Jaz'renthi reached for him, but not before he had made it through the sea of bodies. He walked to the far side of the pool, where everyone could see him.

The Bloodraptor's instantly locked onto Jarn'dor, and he began to speak. "Brudda's and Sista's," he began, "I bring bad news from da Vale… From our home." The trolls instantly began to murmer, falling silent after what seemed like an eternity. "We all know dat our kind be facin' dark times in da future… Our past nearly as dark. Da Gurubashi, givin' dere lives for evil… Da Amani, bein betrayed by da Loa, by da gods. And da Nordern' Trolls? Dey all be dyin'; taken by da Undead Scourge."

The trolls grumbled again, discussing amongst themselves. Jarn'dor continued once they became silent. "In Stranglethorn Vale, da Zandalari be stirrin' da pot; dey seek ta make one Empia' again. But dey be usin' powa… Powa dat involves da Blood God, Atal'Hakkar." Every troll in the crowd seemed to visibly flinch from the name, Jarn'dor pressed on. "Da only powaful tribe dat ain't be allyin' with da Zandalari be Vol'jin and his Darkspea trolls… Da question now be, what we be doin. If we allyin' wit Vol'jin and his Horde, or we join da Zandalar, and Atal'Hakkar. Eida way, our future gonna be worse den our past… For war be broodin' wit'in our own race."

The crowd immediately began to talk, and Zi'bal stood, walking away. Jaz'renthi had a hand over her mouth. One troll moved forward, a shaman from the looks of him.

"Could dis be driven' by de elements, Jarn'dor?" asked the Shaman, worry creasing his brows.

The druid shook his head. "No mon, dis be our races final desperate gambit ta survive…"

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor shook his head, ridding himself from the memory. He looked up to the stars, wondering what had driven him to chase after Zi'bal…<p>

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor approached the shore, leaving the other trolls to discuss this new plight amongst themselves. Zi'bal stared out to sea, wrapped in his thoughts. He twitched his ears at the other troll's approach. "Jarn'dor… Tings be getting' bad." The druid nodded in response.<p>

"Ya mon… But what we be doin'? We be allyin' with da Horde, or wit da Zandalar?" Zi'bal sighed sadly. "Da jungles be our home…"  
>Jarn'dor stepped up beside him. "Da Horde have given us a home, mon."<p>

Zi'bal turned to him, fury on his face. "Dey canna be trusted! Especially dat new Warchief. Dat fool will be da death of dem."

The druid scowled. "Zi'bal, dey be da closest ting we have ta a home."

The chieftain nodded. "Ya…On da oda hand, da Zandalari be workin' wit dark voodoo…Dat could destroy dem." Jarn'dor nodded, looking out to the stars. The druid wished he could divine them as Jaz'renthi so easily could. But his powers were bound to the earth.

He took a deep breath. "Zi'bal, look at it dis way. If da Zandalari begin a war, den da Alliance and da Horde will be fightin' against dem. Togeda'. Dem trolls and dere allies won't be able ta beat dem."

Zi'bal nodded, closing his eyes in thought. Jarn'dor sighed, crossing his arms. "Mon… No matta what ya decision be, ya people be behind ya; everyone one o' us."

The chieftan looked at his companion, and touched the skull dangling around his neck. He pointed the gnarled bone at the sky, and bolt of dark lighting flew from its eye sockets, the unnatural force forming a raptor skull in the sky; the Clan's symbol.

Zi'bal looked at Jarn'dor. "We ally wit da Horde for now," spoke the Chieftain, "Until dis be over, den we be goin our separate ways. For good, mon." Zi'bal walked away, grumbling.

Jarn'dor looked at the sky, watching as the skull vanished …

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor opened his eyes, done with his meditation. The sun began to rise above the horizon, bathing the beach and the jungle with its light. He took a deep breath, welcoming the day. He turned as Jaz'renthi walked behind him, looping her arms around his chest.<p>

The druid closed his eyes, remembering when he had nearly lost her on this shore…

* * *

><p>The couple sat down on the shore, laughing and giggling. Jarn'dor set down a sack, pulling out some exotic food. Jaz'renthi reached for a Skin of Mulgore Firewater, trying the strange alcohol. As she swigged back the skin, she coughed and gagged, earning her a snicker from Jarn'dor.<p>

"What be so funny," she questioned her friend, unable to stop herself from blushing. Jarn'dor could only smile, managing to imitate the face she had made. He slammed his eyes shut and puckered his lips, scrunching up his face. Jaz'renthi dumped the skin of booze on him in response.

Jarn'dor growled playfully, picking her up in his arms. "Tell me, how ya feel about getting' wet in ya clothes?" Jaz'renthi quirked an eyebrow, and before she could respond, the other troll picked her up, and jumped into the sea, taking them both under the water.

They quickly emerged laughing and splashing each other. Jarn'dor dove below the water, surfacing behind her and splashing her hair. Jaz'renthi snickered and did the same tactic, except when she surfaced, she looped her arms around his body, placing both of her hands on his chest.

With a grin, Jarn'dor hauled her over his shoulder, flipping her so they were chest to chest. He pulled them both under, locking lips passionately with Jaz'renthi. They stayed together for what seemed like an eternity, before she attempted to whisper something into Jarn'dor's ear, the words lost in the water.

Their heads broke the surface, taking deep breaths. Jarn'dor looked at Jaz'renthi curiously. "Watcha say?" She merely shook her head in response, refusing to tell him.

Jarn'dor grinned impishly, tickling her sensitive ribs. She managed to hold back her laughter for a time, but she soon burst into laughter thrashing in the water.

"Stop it mon," she cried, "I ain gonna tell ya!" Jarn'dor chuckled, continuing his underhanded assault.

"Come on," he said, "Ya know ya want ta tell me… Come on." Jaz'renthi squealed, nodding, too out of breath to speak. Jarn'dor stopped, holding Jaz'renthi so she wouldn't sink.

"Jarn, I love ya…" And with those words, Jarn'dor froze. He had never had anyone say that to him before, not even his parents. Sure, he had been with women before Jaz'renthi, but he had never gotten that serious. He wasn't sure what to say, or how to respond.

His mate blushed, pushing away from Jarn'dor. She dove under the water, clearly embarrassed. Jarn'dor looked around.

"Jaz? Jaz'renthi?" _'Oh no,' _he thought, _'I lost her…'_ He looked around, panicked, and spied her below the water. He let out a sigh of relief, until he saw why she hadn't resurfaced.

Jaz'renthi had her foot pinned in between two jagged rocks, trapped beneath the water. Blood was trickling from her ankle, and it was clear she was passing out, her panicked flailing quickly weakening.

Jarn'dor took in a deep breath, and dove under the water. As soon as he got to Jaz'renthi, he opened her mouth, locking lips and pushing every ounce of air in his lungs into hers, giving her as much air as he had left.

She slowly became alert, as the other troll started to grab the rocks pinning her ankle, forcing them apart. As one rock flew from the sandy bottom, Jarn'dor used the last of his strength to heal her, the cuts quickly closing up. They turned to scars, and then faint white lines, until even those were gone. He soon became lightheaded, quickly blacking out from the lack of air. Jaz'renthi grabbed him, and managed to haul him to the surface.

The two trolls came up spluttering for air, and clinging to each other. Jaz'renthi buried her face in her man's chest, sobbing. Jarn'dor stroked her back, murmuring words of comfort.

"Jarn," she sobbed, "I be so sorry… If I hadn't had dove…" Jarn shook his head, simply stroking her back. After she had calmed down, he kicked towards shore, pulling them both up out of the water.

"Ya be so lucky I love ya," he joked, smiling. Jaz'renthi looked into his eyes.

"Ya mean it?" she inquired, "I thought when I asked ya… Ya might leave…" She buried her face in Jarn'dor's chest again, afraid to look at his face.

"I'd neva leave ya…" he swore, "Neva." Jaz'renthi turned her head up to smile at him, wiping her tears away. She snuggled up to her mate, closing her eyes.

After a while, Jarn'dor spoke. "Ya know, dere is one good ting dat come out of dis." Jaz'renthi looked at him, unimpressed. "Dere's sometin' good out of me almost dyin'?"

Jarn'dor nodded, and with a smile, said: "Ya can tell all ya friends ya took mah breath away…"

* * *

><p>Jaz'renthi sat down beside him on the beach, snuggling up to him. "What ya be tinkin' about, Jarn?"<p>

The druid sighed. "Many tings… Even about ya brotha, Zi'bal…" Jaz'renthi looked up at him. "Ya still dwellin' on what ya did? Turnin' down dat promotion?"

Jarn'dor shook his head, thinking back on it…

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor watched as Zi'bal marked the New Bloods, all of which Jarn'dor had recruited for the Clan. Some were old friends, others were trolls just coming out of adolescence, but all were eager to serve the clan. One by one, they received the markings of a Bloodraptor Warrior, each of their faces filling with pride.<p>

They were dismissed once all of them had been marked, returning to their training. Zi'bal pulled something out of his pack, pressing it into Jarn'dor's hands. "Ya be bringin' da Clan powa, Jarn'dor… Ya have a choice ta make." The druid looked into his hands, and saw a blood red bandana.

"Ya have two pat's," continued Zi'bal, "Da Talon Seeka, or da Shadow Hunta. Da Talon Seeka seeks ta use words over weapons to bring peace. Da Shadow Hunta uses weapons before words, and become great leaders in our Clan." Zi'bal mounted his War-Raptor, the great beast screeching.

"Tonight," he spoke, "you will be marked in front of da clan… Choose what path ya continue ya life on…" With a yelp, the raptor bore its master away, leaving Jarn'dor alone with his thoughts.

Once the sun had set, the tribe gathered on the beaches of Sen'Jin Village, torches burning brightly in the night. Zi'bal stood in the center of the torches, rolling his shoulders. The Bloodraptor Clan stood around the Chieftain, watching with baited breath, all except one.

In the Chieftain's arms was his Blood Mistress, Tezeek. Her blood red hair was tied back in a single pony tail, keeping her face free from stray locks of hair. Her face seemed cruel, a permanent scowl etched upon it. Short tusks stuck out from her mouth, slightly longer than most troll women preferred to keep theirs.

Zi'bal spoke, and everyone became silent. "Jarn'dor Gurubashi, step forward." The druid stepped out of the crowd, the bandanna tied around his wrist. Zi'bal smiled at his comrade. "Tell me, friend. What path have ya chosen?"

Jarn'dor untied the bandanna, holding it in his hand. "Da ting is, I canna choose." Tezeek's face filled with anger.

"Canna choose?" she shrieked, "Wutcha mean ya canna choose!" Jarn'dor looked at the Blood Mistress, his words coming from his heart.

"Blood Mistress, I canna choose, because dat goes against what I am. I be a druid, before da clan, and before my family. We druids are meant to bring balance to da world. Where fire burns, da druids heal da ravaged land. Where enemies batter down our homes, we druids fight back and rebuild dem. We be meant for war, and peace. I do everytin' and notin' in da roles of da Talon Seeka, and da Shadow Hunta."

The Clan began to whisper and murmur, shocked that anyone would have the gall to turn away a promotion. "Zi'bal," continued the druid, "I canna chose, because I must always do both. And when I am needed to do one ting, I may not be able to do it, for it may unbalance da situation. I am sorry, mon. But I can't accept this."

Zi'bal stared at Jarn'dor, clearly hurt and disappointed. The crowd stood, shocked most of trolls murmuring. Tezeek broke away from her lovers arm, ripping the bandanna out of Jarn'dor's hands.

"Den ya don't be deservin' dis," she seethed, a look of disgust adorning her face. She walked back to the Bloodraptor Chieftan, tucking the bandanna away in his pocket.

The clan looked at the chieftan, unsure of what to do. Jarn'dor merely turned and walked back into the crowd, Jaz'renthi looking as shocked as the rest of them. Zi'bal finally regained his composure, but the look of hurt never left his face for the rest of the night…

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor looked out to the ocean, his mind drifting on all of the memories. Jaz'renthi squeezed his hand.<p>

"Ya need ta go get help wit ya dreams," she began, "Ya be lookin' worse all da time… And ya screams get worse as well…" Jarn'dor nodded. He sighed sadly, looking down at the sandy beach.

"I see him every night now," he said, "Nek'tan… I didn't even remember him until I was on da zeppelin home… I need to know if he made it out alive…"

Jaz'renthi scowled. "You are not goin' back," she spoke, "It's a death wish ta walk inta dat city." Her mate nodded, deep in thought. He started to smile, an idea forming in his mind.

"I won' be goin back to Zul'Gurub," he began, "But I tink I'll be goin' ta somewhere else just as dangerous."


	4. Dreams and Nightmares

Jarn'dor cut through the thick foliage, clawing his way to the cavernous entrance. He sawed through the oasis plants, his stride taking him closer and closer to the Wailing Caverns.

Up until a few years ago, the Druid Naralex and his disciples had trained within the Wailing Caverns, along with members of the Druids of the Fang. One day, Naralex entered the Emerald Dream, as all druids had to in exchange for their power over nature. But when he entered, twisted nightmares poured out, infecting the Druids of the Fang, and making them corrupted.

Soon, the Emerald Nightmare had claimed the cave with its darkness, driving out Naralex and his Disciples. However, a few months prior to the Cataclysm, a group of young adventurers had cleaned out the cavern, driving away the Druids of the Fang, and slaying their Leaders, the Fanglords.

Now, Jarn'dor hoped the cavern would be empty, devoid of life. For now that Naralex had made a connection to the Emerald Dream, and left it, the Caverns were now possibly the closest open "channel", or pathway to the Dream.

The troll nearly fell out into a clearing, quickly regaining his balance. He looked down at the grass in between his toes and smiled. The Barrens had been devoid of life for some time, but recently oases had sprung up, drawing all sorts of plant and animal life.

All around the druid were healthy plants, bearing ripened fruit. Small lizards and other plains critters scampered in and out of the bushes, now just in season to bloom amazing flowers of every shape and size. Jarn'dor admired this for a time, before turning to a great maw in the earth. He looked deep inside it, and recognized the place for what it was; the Wailing Caverns.

He stepped inside the cave, following the naturally hewn path down into the earth. It soon became pitch black, the druid having to navigate his way by feel. He stretched out his power, searching for some form of life to guide him. Jarn'dor reeled, finding a large group of plants, their roots lining the tunnel walls.

Using these roots as a guide, the druid pressed on quickly moving within the tunnels. He soon pulled himself from the dark tunnels, and into a light-filled cavern.

Water trickled down from the cracks in the earth, into a gigantic cavern filled with all varieties of plat and animal life, lizards hissing, birds chirping, bats flew out from the cave, as the afternoon sun began to set into night.

Jarn'dor looked at all of the underground life, his mouth agape. An entire ecosystem underneath the earth… It was an incredible sight, trees bursting through the cavern roof above. The druid quietly wondered if he was right under the oasis; beneath the life-giving pools.

A figure leaped out of the trees, tackling Jarn'dor to the ground. He kicked it off, drawing his staff. The druid looked around, unsure of what attacked him. He quietly scanned the foliage, all of the smaller animals darting to the bushes and trees.

A quiet growl emanated from behind him, and he flipped, slamming the beast with his staff. Jarn'dor leaped up into the trees without hesitation, jumping from branch to branch. The animal let out a roar, and jumped into the branches, following the druid as he scaled up and up the trees.

Jarn'dor stopped on the last branch, as the animal paused on it's, the beast's yellow eyes staring at him from the shadow in the tree. It leaped, and Jarn'dor slid off his branch, plunging straight down to the cavern floor.

He watched as the animal leaped from the top branch, jumping down from limb to limb, following the druid. Jarn'dor began to count in his mind, watching as each branch zipped past him in his freefall. On the way up, he had counted every branch he jumped to, knowing he would need to know how many there were for him to plot his escape.

Jarn'dor reached out, and grabbed a branch, swinging around it as his body stretched straight out from the force. He released his grip as the beast continued to leap down the trees, having lost its prey. The druid catapulted away, landing in a recess in the rock.

He looked around in the trees, searching for the animal that attacked him. A growl emanated from beside him; the same growl as the beast.

Jarn'dor drew his staff, and a cat sat on its haunches, looking a little stern at him. Its fur was a dark blue, and its mane was bright red… The same red as Jaz'renthi's hair. The cat shifted, taking the form of a very cross Jaz'renthi.

She slapped her mate across the face. "Dat was for da staff," she growled, before slapping him again, "And dat, was for kickin' me." Jarn'dor scowled at his mate, a retort on his lips. Before he could say a word, Jaz'renthi pressed a finger to his lips.

"Jarn," she began, "I know ya dinna want me comin', But I just canna stay away. What happens if ya get lost in da dream?" The female druid curled her arms around Jarn'dor, pressing her head into the others chest. "I canna lose ya…"  
>Jarn'dor sighed, unable to send her away now. "Jaz… At da first sign of danga, ya leavin' me. A'right?" His mate nodded, and he hugged her close. They stayed this way for a long time, before breaking apart.<p>

The two druids slid down the rock face, landing on the ground below the recess. The two druids walked through the cavern, talking about the flora and fauna, and listing off possibilities of how the plants could have grown so deep underground.

After hours of walking around the cavern, Jaz'renthi sat down on a rock, yawning. "Jarn… We been walkin' for hours… Can ya just enta da dream hea?" The other druid shook his head.

"No," he stated, "We need ta find da spot where Naralex entad da dream… Dat be da strongest point of access." Jaz'renthi rolled her eyes.

"Ya be a know-it-all sometimes, ya know dat?" she asked, standing and wrapping her arms around Jarn, leaning up to kiss him. "But I love ya for it."

Jarn'dor smiled, resting his head on hers, his arms winding around her waist. He looked up to the crack in the roof of the cavern, and watched as the moon glowed in the sky, lighting the cavern from the outside.

The pair continued on after a while, occasionally stopping to admire the vegetation in the cave. Suddenly, the two druids stepped into a stream, flowing away from the heart of the cavernous jungle. Jarn'dor immediately followed the stream, Jaz'renthi in close pursuit.

They followed the brook closely, and after a time, it disappeared into a great maw, a tunnel darker than either had seen yet.

Jaz'renthi shuddered. "Mon," she said, "Dere be evil in dere…" Jarn'dor could only nod, the cavernous abyss seeming to swallow his thoughts.

"In dere," he spoke, "Be our destination…" Jarn'dor reached into his pack, and pulled out his only torch. The druid struck it upon a nearby rock, and watched as the head burst into flames. He held it in front of him, and walked forward, Jaz'renthi behind him.

The two walked forward, deep into the abyss.

* * *

><p>As they trudged along, Jarn'dor lit torches along the walls, the flames throwing terrifying shadows across the tunnel. The pair progressed deeper and deeper into the darkness, the path never seeming to end.<p>

Jarn'dor became panicked as the tunnel continuously stretched, knowing they were going further and further away from the light of the world. As both of the trolls began to think the tunnel would go on forever, they spilled out into a cavern.

Unlike the dark tunnel, this cavern was lined with brightly burning torches. There were no shadows within this cavern, the light bouncing off of reflective pools and a river within the middle of the it. A rocky bridge spanned across a great gap, connecting two cliffs together.

The druids passed over the stone span, heading deeper into the caverns. Quickly, the torch-light disappeared, leaving them in the dark once again. Jarn'dor pressed his hand against the cavern wall, quickly finding a tunnel. The pair progressed down it, their journey engulfed in silence.

Jaz'renthi put her arm in Jarn'dor's, feeling uncomfortable in the silence. "Jarn… It be so quiet…"

Jarn'dor could only nod, the darkness folding around them like a cell. They hadn't seen a living thing since they had entered the Wailing Caverns. But he knew they were on the right track, the presence of the Emerald Dream getting closer and closer.

Jarn'dor's hand slipped from the tunnel wall into open space, the torch lighting up a cavern far smaller than any they had seen yet. Their eyes adjusted, revealing a cavern with torches lining the walls, a great pool at the far end. Jarn'dor walked around, lighting the torches on the walls, revealing bones and dead animals within the pool.

In the center of the chamber, was a rock bed, where Jarn'dor knew Naralex had slept. Jaz'renthi eyed the pool, her eyes wide. Her mate looked at her, and knew she must be terrified of the water after their time at the beach.

Jarn'dor walked up to Jaz'renthi, hugging her tightly. "A'right… It be time." Jaz'renthi shook her head, clearing it.

"A'right," she said, "But ya be comin' back ta me." Jarn'dor nodded, leaning down to kiss her tenderly. Their love flared, and their lips stayed locked together for a long time. Jarn'dor was the first to break it, slowly releasing Jaz'renthi from the embrace. He stepped towards the black-stone bed, lieing down upon it. He let his eyes droop shut, and relaxed.

This was his first time entering the Emerald Dream, the realm too dangerous for his teacher to take him, and so, when he seemed to become lighter and lighter, he panicked. Jarn'dor began to flail, until he realized his arms weren't moving. He opened his eyes, and looked around the chamber.

_The cavern was absolutely empty, no torches, no bed, and not trolls. Jarn'dor remembered something about the Dream being a primal version of Azeroth, as if sentient beings had never touched it. The druid looked toward the tunnel he had entered, and began to walk up it. He walked for a long, long time, passing through every cavern, feeling as if he should walk outside._

_The druid walked out through the cavern mouth, and gaped at the scene. _

_The Barrens weren't barren… They were beautiful. Trees seemed to sprout from everywhere, the entire land a giant oasis. Jarn'dor admired the beauty of this nature, his thoughts drifting to his home, Zul'Gurub. He thought of all the horrors Atal'Hakkar had wreaked upon the Gurubashi Tribe, imprisoning the other Loa, and forcing their champions to serve him._

_Jarn'dor shook his head, and began to wander around this lush land, awestruck at the plant-life... _

Jaz'renthi watched her mate sleep, her mind wandering. She quietly pondered a multitude of things, concerning the future, and the past. She thought about her brother Zi'bal, and why he seemed so sullen after Jarn'dor turned down that promotion.

Underneath the waters of the pool, unbeknownst to Jaz'renthi, something stirred. While the druid was wrapped in her thoughts, a great head poked up through the water, it's eyes filled with pure evil. Wings unfolded from the beings body, revealing scythe-like claws upon the wingtips. From the water emerged Atal'Hakkar, a figure out of nightmare.

Jaz'renthi spun around from the sudden presence, her face filling with fear. The Blood God laughed, and the cavern shook.

"**Little Druid,**" crowed the god, "**Who has summoned me…**" Jaz'renthi put on a grim face, drawing her staff. "If ya commin' ta destroy da world, ya ain't gonna get trough me!"

The Soulflayer laughed. **"You think you can match my power, little troll! You don't even know what you face! I AM POWER!**" The roof rumbled, dust and debris falling upon the two.

Jaz'renthi's vision began to haze, Atal'Hakkar vanishing within it. She looked around, wondering where the gigantic figure had vanished. A hiss ensued from behind her, and she spun, swinging her staff. It struck nothing but the haze, whatever that had been behind her suddenly vanishing.

Hissing ensued from all around her, driving her closer to the pool. She looked around, quickly becoming panicked from the hidden figures. Jaz'renthi stepped into the pool, and felt a cool, scaly hand wrap around her ankle, and drag her underwater…

_Jarn'dor looked at the oasis, awestruck. "__**Careful, druid. Stray too far from your purpose and you'll become lost.**__" _

_The troll turned, and saw a great, black panther. She yawned, stretching out her body in the process. Jarn'dor fell to his knees, his Loa standing in front of him. _

_"Bethekk," he whispered, "Da Night Huntress…" The panther almost smiled. _

_"__**Hello, Jarn'dor. I know why you've come here. You wish to see if your friend still lives. Correct?**__" Jarn'dor could only nod, awestruck by the figure. Bethekk turned her side to Jarn'dor. She shook her head, indicating for Jarn'dor to get on. The Troll reverently climbed on top of his Loa, and the Night Huntress began to run. _

_The landscape blurred from the Loa's speed, Jarn'dor nearly flying from the great beast's back. _

_"Loa," asked Jarn'dor, "Why ya be helpin' me? I just be a troll." The Panther chuckled, looking over her shoulder at the rider. _

_"__**You have always been faithful to me,**__" spoke Bethekk, "__**You have always worshipped me, and never strayed from the path of goodness. You uphold my morals, my duties, and frequently pay respects to me. I now return your faith, with anything I can do to help.**__"_

_The druid smiled, Bethekk being the only Loa who he ever saw as good. The bat and the snake were too mysterious, the tiger too savage, and the spider too underhanded. Bethekk, in his eyes, was a true warrior. She always thought things through, before needlessly engaging in combat, and sought balance over war or peace. _

_"But Loa," yelled Jarn'dor over the whistling wind in his ears, "I tought ya had a champion!" Bethekk laughed. _

_"__**My champion died when Hakkar's avatar was defeated. He held us all prisoner, and therefore, myself and the other Loa did nothing to aid him when he fell.**__" The Night Huntress laughed cruely. "__**He may act like a great Loa, but when his avatar began to die, he begged like a coward.**__" _

_Jarn'dor nodded. "But den, why ya bein in da Emerald Dream? Isn't dis da realm of da Aspect Ysera?" _

_"__**It is,**__" replied Bethekk, "__**But some claim that Hakkar himself has corrupted the Dream. It is the reason for your nightmares. It is why, whenever you look in a mirror, you can see the black tendrils of corruption trying to consume you.**__"_

_The troll nodded. Every time he looked into something reflective, he thought he had seen dark tendrils trying to cling to him and everything around him. Jarn'dor had assumed that it was guilt causing the darkness, but now he understood. It had been the Dream trying to consume him. _

_"__**I have come here,**__" continued the Loa, "__**To investigate these rumours. When I sensed one of my most faithful enter, I knew I had to aid you.**__" _

_The Night Huntress suddenly stopped, the two standing where Zul'Gurub should be. _

_"__**There are many levels to the Dream,**__" explained Bethekk, "__**Each one showing the progress of Azeroth since its creation… You are not yet strong enough to transcend these levels, but I shall aid you.**__" _

_Jarn'dor blinked in surprise, as the landscape began to change, Zul'Gurub suddenly erected. The landscape continuously changed as the two beings swam through the Dream, finally arriving at the start of the Zandalari Empire. _

_"__**Here,**__" stated Bethekk, "__**Is where we search for your friend.**"_

_The Night Huntress entered the city, as Jarn'dor watched himself fly into the city from the trees, Nek'tan swimming through the crowd…_

Jaz'renthi struggled for breath, the hands dragging her down deeper into the pond. She looked down, and screamed.

A naga was dragging her down, the very same one that had killed her mother. It hissed, its mouth twisted into a smile.

"We will kill you," it hissed, "Just like we killed your mother!" Jaz'renthi tried to swing her staff, as the naga dragged her deeper and deeper into the murky depths. Other naga started to grab at her, ripping her staff from her hand, and pulling and tearing at her clothing.

She shifted to a great bear, swatting at the naga. She tried to swim away, but not before more naga clutched at her, slowly pulling her deeper into the water. Jaz'renthi couldn't scream, her lungs filled with water. Her eyes began to close, her mind slowing down…

_Jarn'dor rode Bethekk, as the Zandalari Troll began to speak, his words echoing throughout the city. He didn't care for the words, all of it being in the past. He spotted himself on top of a ruined building, and smiled. He looked stranger back in the past, crouching and looking so different. _

_"__**Focus,**__" said Bethekk, "__**They may not be able to see us, but time still travels. I'd prefer not to come back here again."**_

_The troll looked to the altar, spying Nek'tan. The trolls began to roar and scatter, following the entities command. Nek'tan ripped a great battle-axe out from under his cloak, driving it into the trolls around him. _

_The scattered trolls began to slowly regroup on him. His violent axe-swings carved into the trolls, until they overwhelmed him. _

_"Bring him to da altar," commanded the Zandalari Troll, as the other clans scrabbled to obey. They hoisted Nek'tan up onto the monolith, stripping away his axe and cloak. The Amani, and Gurubashi trolls held the orc still as the Zandalari paced around him. _

_"So spy," accused the Zandalari, "Who be your accomplice? Talk!" The orc spit at the trolls feet. _

_"I won't sell out my comrade! I live and die for him!" cried the orc. The trolls gathered around the altar laughed, and the Zandalari merely looked at the troll smugly. _

_"Your 'comrade' has escaped, and left you to die!" Nek'tan closed his eyes. When he opened them, nothing but defiance filled them. _

_"Then he survives," spoke the orc, "And I die. I forgive him, and his soul. But until the end, I DEFY AND DESPISE YOU!" The trolls began to boo and jeer, throwing whatever they had on hand at the orc. _

_The Zandalari troll laughed. "Ya canna defy what kills ya!" roared the troll as he drew a dagger from beneath his robes. "When ya see ya 'comrade' tell him da Zandalari send dere regards!"_

_Jarn'dor screamed in protest as the Zandalari drove his dagger into Nek'tan, ripping it upward. The orc's guts spilled from his stomach, falling onto the altar and dying it a deep red. The trolls around him did not react to the scream, for at the spilling of the orc's innards, they cheered and roared._

_Nek'tan became limp in the trolls arms, and they threw him on top of his organs, the red coloured lumps crushed under the weight of the orc's muscular body. He stared up at the sky, and with his last breath roared, "LOK TAR OGAR!" _

_With that final cry, Nek'tan became still, truly dead. Jarn'dor could no longer look at the scene, choosing to bury his face in Bethekk's fur. _

_"__**Be at ease druid,**__" spoke the Night Huntress soothingly, "__**He forgave you, and knew that he would die here… Be at peace.**__" Jarn'dor could only nod, forcing himself not to cry. Bethekk raised her head as the trolls continued to cheer, her ears twitching. She darted out of the city, the landscape blurring around them. _

_Jarn'dor clutched the great panther's fur as she ran, barely managing to stay on. "Huntress," asked the mourning troll, "What be wrong?" The Panther ran without stopping, leaping onto the Great Sea. She ran across it, floating on it as if it were ground. _

_"__**Danger lurks,**__" warned Bethekk, "__**There is great danger where your body lies.**__" Jarn'dor looked at the troll, unsure what to say. "__**I will aid you in anyway I can, but we must hurry. Time is quickly running short.**__" _

_Bethekk leaped over the chaotic Maelstrom, a panicked and confused Jarn'dor holding onto her for dear life…_

Jaz'renthi awoke on a plain, still in her bear form. _'Where am I?' _she asked herself, gazing around the barren land. She could see nothing but plains grass, no animals, no bushes, nothing but grass.

A bullet whipped past her head burying itself in the ground behind her. She looked, and saw a Blood Elf, holding a bolt action rifle.

"Oh damn, I missed," complained the elf, "But I'll quickly remedy that." The elf cracked open the chamber on his rifle, a shell falling onto the ground. He slid in a new round, slamming the chamber shut.

Jaz'renthi tried to shift her form, to explain that she was a druid. But she couldn't. She couldn't talk, or shift. Jaz'renthi began to panic, standing on her hind legs and roaring in response.

"Such a brute," muttered the hunter, "but your pelt will look stunning on my wall." The elf fired his rifle again, the shot grazing Jaz'renthi's cheek. She immediately turned to run, tears streaming down her eyes…

_Bethekk leaped into the Wailing Caverns, following the tunnels expertly, despite the blurring speed. Jarn'dor held on for dear life, wondering what kind of horror would await them. _

_"__**Jarn'dor,**__" spoke the Night Huntress, "__**Great evil awaits you outside the Emerald Dream. What it is, is a monster spawned by your nightmares. When you strayed from your purpose of finding Nek'tan, it escaped through your body, much like Naralex's horrors.**__" Jarn'dor could only nod, the speed of the great panther dizzying. _

_They plunged into the chamber holding Jarn'dor's body, the troll's unconscious form lighting up like a beacon. _

_"__**I will aid you in anyway I can,**__" reassured Bethekk, "__**Now go! Time runs short!**__" _

_Jarn'dor sat down, upon the altar. He closed his eyes and lay down, the Emerald Dream vanishing…_

Jaz'renthi continued to run, bullets flying at her from the hunter's gun. She was afraid for her life, only able to run across the endless plain. Her knee flared with pain, one of the hunter's bullets ripping through the joint.

The druid fell to her side, roaring her pain. The elf caught up to her, pointing his rifle at her chest. "Now the greatest shame," spoke the elf, "Would be if you were a druid… That would be true irony."

Jaz'renthi tried to scream that she was, she tried to change back, but it all seemed as if a bear was roaring in pain.

"Time to put you out of your misery." The elf pointed his rifle at Jaz'renthi's head, and pulled the trigger…

Jarn'dor awoke to her screaming, sitting bolt upright. Jaz'renthi was curled in a ball on the floor, shivering and whimpering in fear. Above her, was Atal'Hakkar, ready to prey on her soul.

"Get away from her!" roared the druid, letting loose a bolt of moonfire. It slammed into Hakkar, and sent the Blood God flying, the monster careening into a wall.

The druid leaped off the bed, running to Jaz'renthi's quivering body. Jaz'renthi was twitching and whimpering, as if she were caught in some sort of nightmare.

"**Fool,**" whispered the Soulflayer as he rose, "**Your woman is caught in nightmares, and with each new one, she feeds me. I will soon leave this cavern, and wreak my havoc anew!**" Hakkar laughed, a horrible, terrifying sound.

Jarn'dor could only roar his fury, throwing bolt after bolt of moonfire at the Blood God. Hakkar slammed against the wall, screaming his anger and pain from the burns the arcane fire left him. Hakkar pushed himself away from the wall, battering the druid with a great wing.

Jarn'dor flew across the room, slamming onto the black stone bed and shattering it on impact. The druid watched as the Soulflayer bared his massive fangs, preparing to strike Jaz'renthi for her life.

The druid reached out to the plants, pleading, and a gigantic root shot out of the earth, driving its tip into the Blood God's chest. Atal'Hakkar roared in agony, as the root slammed him up against the wall, impaling him to the cavern.

Jarn'dor shook with rage, his eyes the color of venom. Other roots burst forth from the cavern walls, stabbing themselves into Hakkar. The Soulflayer writhed in agony, spouting obscenities at the druid.

As more and more roots joined the first, the Gods writhing slowed, and he finally became still. The Blood God locked eyes with Jarn'dor and hissed his rage.

"**This… Is not… Over… Gurubashi…**" With a final twitch, Hakkar expired. His body ruptured, turning into a fine powder. The powdery substance floated onto the pond, sinking into the cursed water.

Jarn'dor rushed over to Jaz'renthi, trying to shake her awake. Jaz'renthi could only whine, screaming occasionally as her dreams got worse and worse. Jarn'dor could feel his eyes watering, and he roared his agony, his scream of fury turning to one of sorrow.

_'Jarn'dor… Jarn'dor…' _The troll looked around, searching for the voice. _'Jarn'dor… I promised I would aid you in anyway I could… Heal your mate, and know I am with you…' _The druid looked around, searching for the speaker, before realizing who it was.

"Bethekk," he murmured, placing his hands on the twitching body of Jaz'renthi. He willed his powers to heal her, and cleanse her of disease. Jaz'renthi slowly stopped twitching, and she stopped whimpering. Soon, she was completely still.

The druid looked at his mate, his eyes watering. "No…. No ya canna die… Ya canna die Jaz!" Jarn'dor began to shake his mates body, trying to wake her up. The troll buried his face in her shoulder, sobbing.

"…Jarn…?" Jarn'dor looked up, and saw Jaz'renthi yawning. He smiled, hugging her tight. "Jaz," he whispered, "Ya a'right…" She gave him a puzzled look.

"Where… Where'd Hakkar go?" she asked. Jarn'dor just shook his head, crying tears of relief. He helped Jaz'renthi stand, supporting her as they walked out of the cavern, holding each other tightly.

_'You have done well,' _whispered Bethekk, _'But that was far from the real Loa... Remember that...' _"… Jarn, focus!"

Jarn'dor shook his head, looking at Jaz'renthi. "I be sorry, hun. Wutcha say?" She shook her head, resting it on his shoulder.

"Ya find Nek'tan?" Jarn'dor nodded.

"Ya… He forgave me."


	5. Origins

Jarn'dor sat by a small fire, the Barren's night cool and dark. He looked up and noticed the New Moon, and how all the stars were also gone, covering the plains in total darkness. The druid gently poked at the dancing flames, turning over an unburned log.

A figure moved through the dark night, his steps heavy against the plains grass. The druid grabbed his staff, pointing it at where he last heard the footsteps. The figure moved closer and closer, until two pale, emerald eyes blinked at the troll from the edge of the fire's light.

"Who be dere," inquired Jarn'dor, his voice filled with the determination of a lone traveler. The figure entered the fire's light, covered from head to toe in the black robes of a Death Knight. He pulled down his hood, to reveal the face of a Blood Elf.

"A friend," replied Vyndakian Sunshatter, a smile on his face. Jarn'dor chuckled, setting down his staff and embracing his comrade.

Vyndakian was nearly as tall as an average troll, his long ears making him appear even taller. The Death Knight's midnight black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not a lock of hair hiding his face.

The Death Knight looked like every woman's dream man, a gorgeous face, well muscled body, and a winning smile. Jarn'dor couldn't help but be a little jealous, but he enjoyed the company of his friend, patting him on the back.

"Mon," said the joyous troll, "How ya be doin?" The Death Knight shrugged, indicating his neutrality. Jarn'dor sat down next to the fire, Vyndakian plopping down as well. He pulled out his Runeblade, polishing it.

"So," began the Elf, "Did you get my letter?" The druid nodded. He had received the letter, detailing what had occurred with Zi'bal's vision. Sadly, the parchment had described it in horrific detail, the Chieftain twitching as words came out of his mouth.

Jarn'dor smiled, because the letter had also contained other information, mainly about Vyndakian's life. The Death Knight had never before written so detailed, he usually kept it to the bare minimum. But the Elf had told Jarn'dor how he had taken a liking to a little goblin girl named Ezza, and how he had asked the elf Kisha'rowyn out on a "date."  
>The druid couldn't possibly fathom why other races kept it so temporary. He supposed it was in case the relationship didn't work out, so they could pretend they never had feelings for each other.<p>

The Death Knight gazed up at the sky, and suddenly, the grim figure spoke.

"Jarn'dor… How did you grow up?" The druid could only chuckle, shuffling a little closer to the fire, rubbing his hands in its warming light.

"Well mon," began the troll, "It started a long time ago… It started, in Strangat'orn Vale…"

* * *

><p>My family, mon, were a very honest family. We never broke the law, and never betrayed our Loa, our gods. Forever, were my family protecting the rights and freedoms of the weak and suffering.<p>

I suppose the greatest turning point in my life, was when I was just coming of age, the bones of my first kill draped around my neck. I was proud, and my parents were proud. No matter what happened, we would forever triumph against… Adversity, as your people call it, Vyndakian. Until, one day.

As part of my coming of age, my parents let me do one thing, anything I could possibly wish. I decided to get my tattoo, of the vines climbing up from my left hand to my eye. I was marked as part of the Gurubashi Tribe, and I thought everything was perfect.

Until the Blood Priests came to Zul'Gurub. They preached that the Blood God, Atal'Hakkar, was greater than every Loa combined. I disagreed, for I saw the monster as what it was, a bloodthirsty fiend.

But my parents, so determined to strive for good, fell to Hakkar's sway, and became Blood Priests as well.

I was devastated. I felt like I had been stabbed in the heart. So one day, I ripped the necklace of my first kill from my neck, and left it in their hut. I gathered what little equipment I had, and left Zul'Gurub.

I traveled for a long time, learning how to leap through the tree's expertly, as if I were a jungle cat. I kept true to my Loa, Bethekk the Night Huntress, and worshiped her whenever I could.

But when I thought I was safe, I was wrong. Hakkar knew that there was a traitor of the Gurubashi Tribe out there in the world, and he sent my fanatical parent's after me, as a cruel test of their faith. And so, they hunted me like dogs, their fanaticism driving them into beasts.

It was only later, I learned, that Hakkar had imprisoned the entire tribe. Some followed him willingly; others were forced under his sway. My parents fell into the second category, his magic driving them mad.

They hunted me without rest, and I knew they did. They got closer and closer, until one day they caught me in a clearing. Each fired arrows at me from deathly accurate bows, many piercing my skin. When they closed in on me, they drew out their blades, both a shining iron.

I fell to the ground, helpless to fight what were once my parents. I prayed to be saved; I begged the very earth to help me. And it did.

As my father leapt upon me, a mighty root grew from the ground, burying itself in his chest. Heavy fruit fell from the trees, pelting them both and cutting open their skin. I watched with horror, as the blood of my parents covered the ground, dying it a rich red color.

My mother escaped, but my father was not so lucky. The mighty root that had impaled him had pierced him like an Orcish Shish kabob, his heart having been torn asunder upon impact.

I fell to my knees, and wept. I had not wanted my father to die; I had only wanted to be saved. The plants had heeded my call, and I hated them for it. I no longer leapt in the trees, but walked firmly on the ground. I shut out the voices of the plants, and listened to my own heartbeat.

After a time, I met with the Darkspear Tribe, as they were beggining their voyage to Kalimdor. Vol'jin willingly accepted me into his tribe, but the other trolls shunned me. The Gurubashi had committed horrible acts under Hakkar's tyranny, and they punished me for it.

Growing up, I had no friends, no acquaintances. I only had enemies. Sure, there were times where I banded together with a Darkspear or two, but nothing came of it. But I was still a strong person, and I did many great things for the Tribe, earning me many of the women I wished to sleep with.

But that could not drive away the loneliness of who I was, and the guilt I felt for killing my father. Now that I look back on it, that was the greatest turning point in my life; when I killed my father. It was far different from killing an animal. I had watched, as the life drained from his eyes, and all I saw was agonizing pain.

It had only lasted seconds, but they had stretched into eternity for me. I had to return to the Jungle, and perhaps find my mother.

When the Cataclysm struck the world, troll druids flocked in the dozens to the Echo Isles, me included. I learned what my dominion over nature really was, and learned how to control it. With the basics under my belt, I returned to Stranglethorn Vale, and entered Zul'Gurub for the first time in years.

I would never touch the ground of the city, for it had been tainted with the presence of Hakkar. His altar was now the most corrupted spot, for it had tasted his blood. Once, every day, I would watch as a lone figure came to the altar, and tended to the rotting corpse of the Fallen God.

Eventually, I journeyed closer and closer to the altar, until I saw who it was… Tending to the deceased corpse was my mother. After all these years, she had survived. The solitude, and corruption, had driven her mad. She continuously worked to please her god, even though he could no longer walk in our world.

I could not watch, and I left… I have no idea what has happened to her, but I know that anything would be better than the fate that was dealt to that woman.

After returning to Kalimdor, I completed my druidic training, taking four long years to perfect it. I could no longer look at the monstrosity Warchief Hellscream now called Orgrimmar, the earthy city transformed into a metal monolith. To me, it was a perversion of everything that the Horde had been founded on.

I could no longer stand to live in the city, and so I kept to the wilds, returning to civilization only when I required food, or to repair my damaged clothing. In time, I learned about the Bloodraptor Clan, and they took me in. They didn't see me as a Gurubashi, they saw me as a troll.

And so, I began a new chapter in my life.

* * *

><p>Vyndakian gazed at Jarn'dor as the troll finished his tale. The druid seemed tired, the full amount of his age weighing on him. This was the first time Vyndakian had realized how old Jarn'dor truly was, the days of his youth slowly slipping away.<p>

The elf gazed into the fire, and thought of his own past. The druid smiled, as if reading his mind.

"Come den," said the Troll, "I be tellin' ya mah story. Yah be tellin' me yours now, mon."  
>The Death Knight turned a log over in the fire, pulling a bottle of deep red liquid from his pack. He uncorked it, inhaling the scent deeply. Jarn'dor knew what it was, and he knew what Vyndakian was as well.<p>

The Darkfallen Elf sipped back upon the blood, color slowly returning to his skin. Jarn'dor sighed.

"So, ya still be drinkin' blood?" The Elf could only nod.

"It's the only thing that keeps me alive now," he answered, "And I prefer only killing someone when necessary, to answer your next question." The troll chuckled.

"Ya been mellowin' out wit ya freedom, mon," replied the Druid. The Death Knight nodded in response. "Come on, mon," nudged the troll, "Tell me ya life."

Vyndakian gazed into the fire. "Then I suppose, I'll start from the beginning…"

* * *

><p>My tale does not include every point of my life. I shall only tell you of the past twenty or so years. For those are the most important, and the most traumatic.<p>

Years ago, I was a Paladin, of a very secretive sect. We carried out the most important missions, and were as tight as real brothers. We fought and died together, until one day.

I had returned home from a failed mission, my brothers were killed defending me. Our leader, the Archpaladin, could only reassure me it wasn't my fault, but his rose-like words hid a poisonous serpent underneath them.

I returned home, to watch as it burned down. "Brothers" of my order had been sent to raze the house, setting it aflame. My wife had her throat slit, her blood drenching the front door. I heard the scream of my daughter, until it was suddenly cut off.

The door collapsed as I charged into the house, looking for my baby girl. I kicked down the door to her room, and watched as my "Brothers" desecrated her corpse, raping her dead form.

In that moment, my fate forever changed, as I used my dominion over the light to utterly destroy the defilers, watching as their bodies burned in righteous fire. I heard another traitor burst out of my family's stable, and I leaped out of the house, drawing my blade.

The bandit, for that was all they were to me now, rode my warhorse. This horse was my life-long friend. It had born me through thick and thin, and this bandit had sparked in me the greatest anger with this crime.

As the thief galloped away on my horse, I let loose one final burst of magic, and watched as my friend was struck.

The horse fell and tumbled, crushing its rider. I ran to my steeds' side, a look of betrayal etched on its face. My pain peaked, for now all of my family was dead. I was too late to save them. But I knew who had given the order.

I charged back to the Temple, throwing aside the guards as a storm might throw leaves. I marched to the Archpaladin, and was caught in his trap. My failure, he said to me, was letting my brethren die to save me. And so, my punishment was to be expelled from the order, and everything of value stripped from me.

They expelled me, and I wandered, my rage taking hold of my every waking thought. I slowly wandered my way across the world, my path unknown even to myself. I trudged to Northrend, and became lost in a gigantic snowstorm.

In that storm, I heard a voice speak to me. I now know it was Ner'Zhul's voice. It promised me everything I wanted, revenge, my family, and power. But in exchange, it would take my soul. I would be left an empty husk, without emotion.

I took this new power, and returned home to the Temple. I faced the Archpaladin, and reduced him to nothing but a skeleton. When I left the Temple, it was unholy ground, the remains of the Temple flung around the landscape like toys.

Before I left the unhallowed land, I returned to the place where my horse had fallen. I used my new power, and brought back the one friend I knew I could have again. My new Deathcharger, who I dubbed Ravage, was as faithful to me as he was in life. The horse whinnied its happiness at seeing me, and I looked at was once my home.

I could not bring back my family; I knew that they were lost to me forever. I mounted my faithful companion, and rode back to the frozen north. I now served my master, Ner'zhul faithfully.

When the time came, I aided Arthas in his rise to power, and watched as he became the Lich King. I spread his rule across Northrend, decimating tribes in the name of the Scourge. My greatest victory was also the lowest I sank as a member of the Scourge.

To defeat one tribe of the Taunka, I ordered my units to take their children, and slay them. Using the dominion I wielded over the dead, I raised the corpses, and sent them to wreak havoc upon what were once their parents.

We decimated that tribe, and the halls of Icecrown Citadel rang with my success. But the tables began to turn on the Scourge, as foes pressed in from every side. In one battle, I marshaled a mighty army of the Scourge, and rode to battle.

I fought the general of the Argent Crusade, and he utterly decimated me. His army marched over mine, and continued to the King's Citadel. But there was still salvation…

I was taken by a group of men, and given eternal life. These men were the Darksworn. They were life drinkers. Some drank blood, others drained it like Warlocks, and now I was required to feast upon the blood of living things just to survive.

The Light had forsaken me; of that much I was sure. I had fallen farther than any Death Knight, and yet I had never died once. What I once revered had turned against me. I had been betrayed by the thing I had based my entire life upon.

Needless to say, Arthas fell, and the world was saved. I found myself without purpose then, and I wandered back here, to the world of the living. You and I met, which I know you remember, and now I'm in your clan…

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor nodded, feeling pain for his friend. He had known Vyndakian had experienced a horrible life, but the troll could never have guessed the magnitude of it.<p>

The Death Knight gazed into the flames, his emerald eyes half open. The druid yawned quietly, rubbing his eyes. Vyndakian stood.

"My friend," said the fallen paladin, clapping the troll on the shoulder, "You are tired. I'll leave and let you sleep." Jarn'dor nodded, stifling another yawn. He watched as the Elf waved farewell, pulling up his hood and vanishing back into the starless night.

The troll leaned back against his bag, his eyes drooping closed. He could hear the Death Knight walking away, until his footsteps were no more. Jarn'dor pondered about their pasts for a time, until he truly fell asleep.

Nightmare free for the first time in years.


	6. Shadow of the Betrayer

_The Dream shimmered around Jarn'dor, as he tried for the umpteenth time to pierce its multiple levels. He sighed, his strength waning with another failure, as the Emerald Dream came into crisp, clear focus, jungle trees taking shape around the druid. _

_ He had spent weeks trying to move through the levels of the Emerald Dream, as he had with his Loa, Bethekk, the last time he was within the primordial vision. So far, the Troll Druid had met with no success. _

_ Jarn'dor rose, clearing his head. In here, discipline was what mattered. Even thinking a thought other than his goal could leave him trapped forever. Jarn'dor began to walk around the old Stranglethorn Vale, quietly pondering his position. He knew now that he wouldn't be able to move between the alternate levels unless he was stronger._

_ The troll sighed in defeat, knowing it was time for him to leave the Emerald Dream, and return to Azeroth to become more powerful. As the thought of his friends and his home crossed his mind, he felt a jerk just behind his chest, and he was pulled forward._

_ A surprised Jarn'dor flew across the landscape, the earth blurring in his vision. In a short time, he was dumped unceremoniously on the plains, face down in some grass. The druid pushed himself up from the earth, spitting out a clump of dirt. _

_ Jarn'dor stood upright, looking around. He wasn't sure where he was but there was a river beside him, flowing at a gentle pace. The Dream wavered, and Jarn'dor looked in shock as time sped forward, leaping ahead by thousands of years. _

_ In what seemed so short a time, a tent appeared next to him, and time stopped moving forward. The troll blinked once or twice, and instantly recognized the landscape. _

_ Jarn'dor was at Zi'bal's hut! _

_ A quiet humming drew his focus back, as a sensual figure walked along a nearby path, picking herbs from the roadside, the flowers reflecting the light of the moon above. The druid smiled as he watched his mate, Jaz'renthi, walk down the path. He ran to embrace her, but his form slipped through hers, as if he wasn't there. _

_ The ethereal troll sighed. Of course, this was the past… There was no way Jarn'dor could interact with it, even if the Emerald Dream would let him. He chose to simply watch the beautiful troll continue her gathering, just glad to see some form of Jaz'renthi for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. _

_ The female troll suddenly rose, her herbs forgotten. She leaped into a nearby bush, and Jarn'dor turned and watched as two Ice Trolls trundled down the path, both wearing masks and leather armour. They murmured in the Drakkari Tribe's dialect, one pointing at the tent. _

_ Jarn'dor watched as one troll ducked into Zi'bal's tent, the other standing guard just outside. The guard troll sniffed the air, his muscled form tense. Jaz'renthi watched from her spot in the bushes her own body tensing like a spring. Jarn'dor looked between the two, wondering why two Drakkari Trolls were in Kalimdor. _

_ The Ice Troll ducked out from the tent, something clutched in its hand. The guard troll patted his comrade on the back as he tucked the object away in his pack. They began to walk down the path, right next to Jaz'renthi's bush. _

_ Before Jarn'dor could yell in protest, his mate leaped from the bushes, tackling one of the trolls to the ground. Despite her best efforts, the other troll ripped Jaz'renthi from his comrade. _

_ "Well well," spoke the Thief, "Look like we be getting' us a little spy, eh bruddah?" The Guard growled, Jaz'renthi having broken his nose. _

_ "Da bitch!" He roared, punching the struggling Jaz'renthi in the gut, watching with a grim sort of glee as she coughed, blood pooling in her mouth._

_ The Thief chuckled. "Easy bruddah… I be sure dat da High Priest wanna talk ta ha." The Guard could only nod, grinning at the female troll. _

_ "Why don' we be havin' a little fun wit dis gurl first mon," said the Guard with malice, "I like mah women ta be a little fighty. Before dey learn dere place dat is." _

_ The Thief spit as his comrades feet. "Ya be a disgustin' pervert, mon. Come on, let's deliva dis to Zul'Gurub." The two trolls walked away as Jarn'dor screamed his rage, trying to get them to look at him, to do anything._

_ The scene suddenly shifted, as Jarn'dor was thrown onto a dusty, red earth. The druid pushed himself up, and looked about the Durotar landscape. Judging by the position of the moon, it must have been a few nights later. _

_ A figure rode his horse along the path, pulling it to a stop. The rider rolled his shoulders, his Saronite armor heavy on him, even with his amazing strength. Vyndakian Sunshatter patted his Deathcharger, Ravage, admiring the stars. Even the Death Knight had to appreciate this beautiful night, and Jarn'dor could only agree. _

_ Vyndakian turned as a raptor-like screech ripped through the night, watching as a figure approached, mounted on a flame colored raptor. The troll bared his teeth, holding onto his mount's reigns with a death grip. _

_ Zi'bal looked outright furious, and it was clear that he had murder on his mind.. _

"_Thief," roared the chieftain, "Where have you taken my heart!" The Death Knight raised a brow, turning his Deathcharger to face Zi'bal. _

_ "For once," replied the elf coolly, "I have no fucking idea what's coming out of your mouth Zi'bal." The troll screeched again, pulling out a wicked blade._

_ "Don't lie to me, scum!" screeched Zi'bal, pointing the deadly sword at the Death Knight. "I know you have the Heart!" _

_ Vyndakian scowled, his patience seeming to have already run thin. "Zi'bal, for the last time, I have no idea what you're talking about!" The Elf turned his Deathcharger on Zi'bal, trotting away._

_ Jarn'dor watched in terror as Zi'bal let out a screech, propelling his raptor forward, and swinging the wicked sword down into the flesh of Vyndakian's horse. Ravage screamed, nearly pitching it's rider from its back. _

_The Death Knight held on for dear life, as Zi'bal turned his mount a short distance away, preparing to charge again. Vyndakian snarled, drawing his mighty Runeblade. Zi'bal grinned and charged again, unleashing a ball of felfire at the last moment._

_Vyndakian fell from his mount as it tumbled to the earth, thrashing in agony. "Ravage!" cried the Death Knight, running to his friend as Zi'bal turned his mount. The Elf could only watch as his warhorse stopped kicking and struggling, dying in absolute, unbearable agony. Vyndakian clenched his fists. "Zi…..BAL!" The cry turned into a banshee-like wail, the fallen paladin's eyes becoming an ice cold blue. _

_Zi'bal charged again, and Vyndakian spun, lopping the legs off of the flame-colored raptor. The chieftain tumbled to the earth as raptor blood covered the combatants, the beast's cry almost as horrible as Ravage's had been._

_Vyndakian walked forward, as the ground under his feet died, turning into blighted earth. He roared, clashing blades with Zi'bal. It was clear that the chieftain was strong, but the Death Knight's revenge would not be denied, his anger easily overpowering the taller troll. _

_Zi'bal tumbled away, coming away with a wound across his arm. Vyndakian's armour was dented in multiple places, but the killing machine took no notice, the very air chilling with his cold rage. _

_ Jarn'dor was whisked away again, and landed in Zul'Gurub. He looked up to the Altar of Hakkar, as two Gurubashi trolls dragged a body onto the monolithic surface. The ethereal druid could not see the man's face, but the trolls lashed him to two of the mighty structure's pillars, tying his arms and revealing his chest._

_ One of the jungle trolls carried a whip, and with a mighty crack, he struck the man. He let out a yelp of pain, but that was quickly cut off by another as the troll flayed him again and again, ripping open his flesh. The man's blood flowed onto the mighty altar, staining the ancient stones blood red. _

_ Jarn'dor watched as a shadow grew behind them all, taking the form of Hakkar. _

"_**Your time comes,**__" whispered the Soulflayer, "__**And you will bring all of my glorious power into Azeroth!**__" _

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor awoke from his slumber with a start, never having been ejected from the Dream before. He was surprised and intrigued, but the visions he had… They were the most horrific of all.<p>

The druid attempted to stretch, until he realized he was buried underground.

The troll growled. He had, of course, dug himself his own Barrow, covering it so he would not have the danger of being eaten or attacked by the local wildlife. However, he had forgotten the implications.

He began to claw his way to the surface, nearly punching through the dirt. Jarn'dor was physically weak, nearly a husk from his extended time in the Emerald Dream. But what he had seen drove him forward. He had to save Jaz'renthi. Had to.

Jarn'dor broke ground face first, taking a breath of the clean, luscious air, as if it were his first in eons. With a great effort, he clawed his way out of his Barrow, covered in dirt. He panted heavily, breaking out into a sweat from the exertion of digging himself out.

He reached inside of his pack, drawing out a piece of dry beef. The druid greedily ate it, already feeling strength returning to his limbs. He dove back into his pack, and before long, his rations were gone. After a short time, Jarn'dor stood, looking around.

The troll had dug his Barrow in Stranglethorn Vale, feeling most at peace amongst the jungle trees. But Jarn'dor had dug it as far away from Zul'Gurub as possible, and now he loathed the idea of walking there with so little time.

Jarn'dor hoisted himself to his feet, and tightened his belt. He tried to dust as much of the dirt off his leather armor as he could, but to no avail. The druid began to trudge through the jungle, grumbling all the while.

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor looked up to the stars, watching as the moon slowly rose to its apex. He had sat down a few hours before, lighting a campfire to warm his chilled skin. Jarn'dor leaned back, unwilling to sleep, but knowing he was too weak to do otherwise.<p>

A stirring in the bushes raised Jarn'dor from his dozing, and he immediately reached for something to defend himself. The clomp of heavily boots proceeded the tall figure, and out of the bushes trundled a weary Vyndakian, who smiled weakly at the druid.

Jarn'dor stood up and embraced his friend. "Funny seein' yah hear, mon." The Death Knight chuckled. "Yes and no, my friend." He replied.

The two sat by the campfire, and Vyndakian began to talk, his tale none too pleasant.

"Jarn'dor, I've come here to clear my name of evils and mistrust. A few days ago, Zi'bal had a powerful talisman stolen from him. It was a troll heart, imbued with powerful magic. But alas, my story doesn't begin there.

"From what we know now, two members of the Zandalari Empire infiltrated Zi'bal's tent while he was away on business. They took his talisman, and from a letter we received sometime later, we know they also took Jaz'renthi with them.

"Immeadiatly, Zi'bal accused me. You can imagine my response, and we had a dispute… But that was cleared up when we received the letter. It was from the Zandalari Empire, and they took the heart for a reason they wouldn't disclose. So, Zi'bal asked for someone to aid the Clan.

"None volunteered but me. And so, I'm here now." Jarn'dor nodded, and related his visions to the Death Knight, earning him a few "hmm"s and "hah"s from the stoic figure.

Eventually, Vyndakian became silent. "Jarn'dor, I have a question outside of this situation I want to ask… It involves Kisha'rowyn." Jarn'dor nodded, awaiting Vyndakian's question.

"She found out what I was, and one thing led to another and now… She's Darksworn too…" Jarn'dor knew that he was gaping in shock now, and Vyndakian could only nod.

"Do you think it was right of me," asked the Elf, "Because it saved her from a worse fate… But do you think I've damned her?"

Jarn'dor pondered quietly. "Does she love ya, mon?" Vyndakian nodded, replying, "I love her back."

The druid smiled. "Den ya be doin' notin' wrong. Ya love eachoda, and dat's what matta's." The Death Knight gave Jarn'dor a rare smile.

"Thank you," said Vyndakian, "You are one of the few people I can count on these days." The troll chuckled, believing it.

The friends talked late into the night, until the fire was nothing but embers. Eventually they both fell into the world of sleep, smiles adorning their faces.

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor hiked with Vyndakian, new strength in his limbs. They had come far since their waking at sunrise, now being nearly noonday according to the sun. The two were following a rather unused path, taking multiple twists and turns through the thick jungle foliage.<p>

As they neared closer and closer to the Gurubashi Capital, their conversation died out, until all that they heard were their feet tramping across the soft ground. Jarn'dor could almost hear Vyndakian's thoughts, as quiet as it was.

The pair entered a clearing, and a screech issued from the trees. Trolls adorned with the face paint of the Gurubashi tribe leaped from the foliage, pointing weapons of every kind at the pair. The Death Knight and the Druid were back to back, Runeblade and staff in hand respectively. The ambushers were well prepared, each having perfect aim on their vitals.

One of the trolls sneered. "Throw down ya weapons," spoke the Jungle troll, holding a longbow primed to fire. Other trolls were ready as such, most of them having javelins in hand, the short shafts tied to serrated rock tips.

Jarn'dor analyzed the situation closely, and he knew that there was no way out of this. As the druid threw his staff to the ground, he felt two sharp bolts of pain in his neck. He cried out as he felt his life begin to slip away, his body becoming weaker with every second.

The druid collapsed to his knees, falling into unconsciousness as Vyndakian wiped blood from his mouth.

Vyndakian nearly threw Jarn'dor aside, trying not to drink too much of his friend. He knew the Gurubashi troll's had their eyes on him now, as Jarn'dor fell to the ground, paler than the dead. The Death Knight wiped his friend's sweet, tantalizing blood from his mouth.

"Gurubashi," began the elf, "Behold! I have come to you, as an emissary of lord Hakkar! I, am his Blood Prophet!" He could hear the trolls murmuring, some lowering their weapons altogether.

"I feast off of blood," continued Vyndakian, trying to assert his lie, "I hunger for it, crave it, and demand it!" Some of the trolls stared in horror at the Death Knight, each hoping they wouldn't be the next victim.

"Ya be a lia," roared one troll, "Hakkar no be needin' a elf ta be his Prohpet!" Vyndakian looked at the Gurubashi, and he knew what he had to do. Even as he commanded it, the troll's blood began to boil, exerting great pressure on his skin.

In moments, the troll exploded, coating most of the troll ambushers in their comrade's blood. Vyndakian bared his fangs.

"The unfaithful shall die like he did," warned the elf, "If not worse. Like our Loa, I have dominion over all blood! I can already feel it pumping in each of you!" The Gurubashi looked uncomfortable at this, and some looked out right terrified.

Vyndakian pointed to Jarn'dor's body. "Grab him, and take us to Zul'Gurub! I must speak with your High Priest!" The trolls hesitated for a moment, unsure if they should trust this stranger.

"GO BEFORE I FEAST UPON YOU!" screeched the Death Knight, the trolls instantly grabbing Jarn'dor's still form. Vyndakian followed the procession, grinning grimly.

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor stirred, groaning. He felt so weak, as if he were a corpse. The druid tried to move, but found himself unable. He struggled vainly, and then realized where he was.<p>

The druid was tied to the mighty altar in the center of Zul'Gurub, and the Gurubashi Tribe was gathered around it.

Vyndakian stood off to the side, his eyes a blood red. From the edge of the platform, Jarn'dor couldn't see much, but he heard a voice.

"Bruddah's and sistahs," it boomed, "Today, we be getting' a great gift from our Loa! We be recievin' da talismans, and he bring us his Prophet!" The crowd roared, and Jarn'dor winced, his head already pounding like a Taurahe drum.

The voice belonged to the High Priest of Hakkar, a whithered old troll, who had to walk with a staff, his age-whitened hair handing down to his waist. The High Priest's skin was wrinkled beyond description, showing how old he truly was.

"With the power of these talismans," continued the High Priest, "We can bring the true power of Hakkar into our world!" The trolls cheered, and Jarn'dor was now terrified. Bringing Hakkar into the mortal world?

"We will not see his avata' as we have before, but we shall see him in all his full glory!" The roar of the populace was deafening, and the druid was unable to block out the sound. Two Berserker trolls picked him up from the altar and carried him out to the crowd, tying his arms to the mighty pillars of the altar.

"But de tribes dat no ally wit us try ta take back what belongs ta us now," screeched the Priest, and the crowd roared in agreement. Jarn'dor looked wildly as the Priest went on, and he locked eyes with Vyndakian. Instantly, he knew what had happened.

Jarn'dor refused to believe that his only friend had betrayed him. They had hunted and killed together, and both had saved each others lives repeatedly. A mighty crack shook the druid from his thoughts, and a searing pain brought him back to reality.

A troll had just flayed him with a whip, shredding his leather armor. The crowd booed and jeered as the High Priest pointed out the Gurubashi markings under the Bloodraptor ones, each cry of disapproval from the crowd only adding to the whipping he was enduring.

Vyndakian roared, and the crowd went silent. "How is this torture," he stated, "Give me that whip, simpleton." Without a word of argument, the Death Knight ripped the whip from the torturer's hand, and threw it into the pond below.

Jarn'dor sighed in relief, until the Death Knight drew a red runeblade from under his cloak. The druid had heard about such weapons, how they heated up as if the victim had stuck their body in a forge.

The elf eyed Jarn'dor. "Why do you seek to interfere in our god's work," asked Vyndakian. Jarn'dor didn't answer, choosing to look out over the crowd.

Without a word, Vyndakian drove the runeblade into Jarn'dor's flesh, watching as the druid writhed in absolute agony. Jarn'dor felt as if his very soul was on fire, burning at an infernal stake. Mercifully, the blade was removed from his flesh.

"Now then," began the Death Knight, "Why do you seek to ruin Hakkar's great work!" Jarn'dor this time chose to spit in his face, earning him another jab from the torture-blade.

The druid endured his torture, simply because he had nothing to say. After Vyndakian was done, Jarn'dor's flesh was cut and torn, the troll hanging limply, too weak to support himself. His blood stained the altar red, as the blood of so many before him had done so.

The High Priest laughed cruelly, speaking to the crowd. Jarn'dor was too pained to care, as the Berserker Trolls undid his bonds. The druid fell to his hands and knees, and one troll threw him over his shoulder, walking down the massive altar.

Jarn'dor noticed that the crowd had quieted down after a while, and managed to look up, the mighty troll carrying him farther away from the monolithic altar. Soon, the pair followed a tunnel etched into the earth, and the troll ripped a torch from the wall.

Screams and cries of the dying met the druid's ears as he was carried into what he could guess was some sort of prison, the dark tunnel having doors inserted into them. Each door was a different size and shape, but as they went deeper, they turned into great rock plates.

The Berserker suddenly stopped, dumping Jarn'dor onto the ground. The druid's eyes teared up in pain, and he knew that at least one bone had been broken today. With a mighty heave, the Berserker pushed aside the stone block door, and grabbed Jarn'dor.

He was thrown into a small room, partially filled with water. As the door shut closed, he lay down in the water, sobbing. He was now totally alone, his only friend having betrayed him and the entire tribe. Jarn'dor had known it to be true, once he had looked into the eyes of Vyndakian, and saw the rage and soullessness there.

"Jarn…?" The druid looked up to see a woman kneeling down beside him, suddenly hugging him tight to her body. "Jarn! It be so good ta see ya!"

Jarn'dor embraced the woman, and almost instantly knew it was Jaz'renthi. The two met with an impassioned kiss, his mate resting against him. He stroked her hair comfortingly; glad to feel her warm body against his.

Jaz'renthi kissed her mate. "Jarn," she asked, "How ya end up hea?"

"Yes, Jarn'dor," piqued a quiet, yet powerful voice, "How did you get here?"


	7. Blood of the Raptor

Vyndakian pushed aside the flaps of his tent, looking down upon the trolls laboring in Zul'Gurub. It had been one week since had proclaimed himself as Hakkar's prophet, and he had loved every minute of it.

The Blood Priest's had showered him in praise an adoration, and he had been given the best sleeping quarters, not to mention some of the best women. The Death Knight licked his lips.

Of course he hadn't slept with them; Kisha'rowyn would have skinned him alive. But their blood… Vyndakian's mouth watered at the delectable memories. Each of the women had the best blood he had ever tasted.

The Elf looked from his tent, pondering. This place had everything he wanted: respect, a home, and an endless feeding ground. But he had betrayed his friend, Jarn'dor, and had put all of Azeroth in danger.

"_No_," whispered his Darksworn side, "_You have everything you could never get from that piece of kodo crap, Zi'bal…_"

"_It's not right_," argued his humanity, "_Everything could be lost!_" Vyndakian slammed his hands over his ears, trying to block out his two sides.

The Death Knight whirled to the sound of approaching footsteps, as the High Priest crested the hill. Vyndakian composed himself and walked to meet him.

"Ya a'right mon?" asked the Priest, clapping Vyndakian on the back. The elf nodded, as the two walked down the hill.

"Now," began Vyndakian, "How are we going to bring our Loa's glory to Azeroth?" The High Priest laughed cruelly, pointing to the central altar.

"As we speak," explained the High Priest, "We be preparin' for da Sola' Eclipse in t'ree days time. By usin' da talismans we aquirred, we shall summon our masta!"

Vyndakian had to admire the Priest. It was ingenious. By harvesting the power of the Sun and the Moon at the same time, along with the magic stored in tribal talismans, a powerful portal could be created.

"But Your Excellency," question the elf, "There must be some sort of 'starting force' for the summoning. You can't just create a powerful portal from magic."  
>The High Priest grinned toothily. "Dat is were ya come in… Ya be sacrificin' for our Loa!" Vyndakian nodded, becoming quiet, but the Troll by his side rabbelled on.<p>

"I be tinkin' o' sacrifices, and I remembered dat Troll ya tortured, da Druid… He and his cellmates be perfect." Vyndakian started, but he quickly covered up his emotions, as the Priest talked on about decorations.

Here was everything Vyndakian could want and dream of. But to keep it, he would have to kill his best friend, and plunge the world into pure madness.

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor sat inside his cell, leaning against the wall. Inside the stone chamber, was absolute darkness, he couldn't even see a foot ahead of him. Beside him, snoozed his mate, Jaz'renthi. Her presence made his imprisonment slightly more bearable. They had talked for ages about what was happening outside, and about Jarn'dor's time in the dream.<p>

"We need to get out of here," huffed their cellmate, who called himself Golion Ragereaver. Jarn'dor hadn't seen much of the man, except when the guards opened the door to deliver food. From what he had seen, Golion was built like a well-muscled elf, but his face was covered in a rare beard, his eyes a human sea-green.

Jarn'dor sighed at Golion. "Dere be no way out o' here," he muttered. Jarn'dor had spent the first hours inside his cell trying to claw his way out, wearing down his nails until his fingers bled.

The man punched a portion of the wall, growling. While Golion had been silent for most of Jarn'dor's imprisonment, but he had become more and more outspoken over the last couple days.

Jaz'renthi stirred in the druid's arms, snuggling into his chest. Jarn'dor scowled at the man, hating that he wouldn't be able to see it.

"Sit down mon," whispered the troll, "Maybe tell a story." The man paced, his feet sloshing through the water in the cell.

The druid listened as the man sat down, splashing in the water. A sigh issued forth from his lips.

"Alright, troll. I'll tell you my story…"

* * *

><p>A long time ago, what now seems like eons, I was born to a Human mother, and a High Elven father. That's right, druid, I'm a Half-elf. Half-breed. Whatever you prefer. My family used to live in Eversong Woods, but I was ridiculed by the other children. I was already an adult at 18 years, while my friends had barely reached puberty.<p>

In time, I grew to hate this, and I left my home. I took up the way of the sword, becoming a… Mercenary I suppose. I was the most sought after soldier-for-hire, an untouchable whirlwind of steel. But in time, I knew that something was wrong.

As I traveled home, to Eversong, I crossed the Ghostlands, where trolls were returning to Zul'Aman… A group of trolls had slaughtered my parents…

I travelled to Zul'Aman, seeking vengeance, but their numbers overwhelmed me, capturing me. I was taken here, and here I discovered that the High Priest had ordered that land ravaged as the trolls traveled to their northern home.

* * *

><p>The door to the cell slid aside, and light filled the room, blinding the prisoners. Jarn'dor tried to see past the light, to see the figure in the door way. Jaz'renthi awoke nearly instantly, bearing her teeth at the man.<p>

"Well well… Two failures and their bitch," muttered Vyndakian, dressed in the flowing robes of a Gurubashi Priest. Jaz'renthi leaped at the traitor with a shriek, attempting to hurt the Death Knight in anyway possible.

Before Jarn'dor could blink, his mate was slammed against the far wall, Vyndakian sneering at the foolish attacker. Two dark hands pinned her to the cell wall, as their manipulator ripped a torch from the hands of a guard.

"Shut the door," he ordered the Berserker troll, walking inside the cell. In moments the cell was plunged into darkness, the torch giving off the only light.

Jarn'dor snarled at Vyndakian, and Golion looked ready to murder him. Jaz'renthi was slumped against the wall, holding her shoulder.

The Death Knight looked between the three of them. "In three days," he stated, "You will all be sacrificed for the glory of Hakkar," the Elf sighed.

He knocked on the door of the cell, and it slid open, the Death Knight exiting. Jarn'dor bared his teeth.

"You'll pay for dis, traita!" he roared. Vyndakian looked at his victim. As the door slammed shut, Jarn'dor heard him mutter.

"I already am…"

* * *

><p>Zi'bal slowly sharpened his blade, grumbling. It had been weeks since Vyndakian had left for Zul'Gurub, to retrieve his stolen talisman.<p>

The Chieftain stuck his sword in the ground. He did not like Vyndakian. The Elf constantly questioned him and his techniques, and he had a short temper to boot. The Death Knight was a wild card, unpredictable and unknowable.

A pair of arms wrapped around Zi'bal, a set of lips kissing the top of his head. Tezeek moved around into Zi'bal's lap, smiling.

"Hey dere, love," murmered the Blood Mistress, kissing her lover. Zi'bal was not in the mood, as much as he wanted to be.

Tezeek huffed in annoyance. "Still tinkin' about dat elf?" The chieftain nodded, holding his mate close. They watched as the Kalimdor set along the horizon, ducking behind the pale mountains of Stonetalon.

Zi'bal arose, Tezeek looking more than a little perturbed. Before she could get a word out, the sounds of raptor talons on earth met their ears. They turned to the sound, as a troll rode out to them, his raptor a pale blue in the encroaching darkness.

"Bruddah," whispered the troll, dismounting. Zi'bal chuckled. He embraced his blood brother.

"Zim'bawa, good ta see ya," said Zi'bal, wondering what had brought his brother to his home.

Zim'bawa handed the chieftain an unsealed letter, a look of concern on his face. Zi'bal tore open the envelope, reading the letter inside.

"Zi," whispered Tezeek, "What's wrong?" Her lover read the letter once, and then again. He looked at his mate, unsure what to say. Zim'bawa mounted back up, looking down at his brother.

"… Prepare da Tribe," ordered the chieftain, "We be goin ta fight."

* * *

><p>Vyndakian stood upon the mighty altar, looking out on Zul'Gurub. It was only hours away until the eclipse, and the sacrifices were being prepared.<p>

The Death Knight pondered everything that had happened in the last week. He had arrived at his paradise. Here was everything he wanted, a virtual paradise. Vyndakian was a god amongst these people. But he knew it wasn't right.

If he killed his best friend, he would single-handedly destroy the world. Everything would burn under Hakkar's summoning.

The Death Knight looked up to the sky, as the sun slowly rose to its apex. He had sent for the one thing that could turn the tables in this endeavor, Vyndakian could only prey that it would arrive before it was too late.

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor, Jaz'renthi, and Golion were tied to the altar, as every troll in Zul'Gurub booed and jeered at them. Vyndakian stood nearby, leaning on his runeblade.<p>

The druid loathed Vyndakian, wanting to see the Death Knight burn. Jaz'renthi struggled feebly against her bonds, and Golion had seemed to accept his fate. Jarn'dor looked out to the crowd, trolls of every different tribe standing and cheering on the Blood Priests.

Dotted throughout the crowd, were figures covered by dark, earthy cloaks. Jarn'dor snorted, and passed them off for some sort of secretive tribe. The troll's eyes wafted back up to the altar, landing on Jaz'renthi.

"Jaz…" started the troll, but she smiled warmly at him. She managed to lean over and kiss his cheek.

"Don't even say it," she warned with a wink, "Cause ya don' have to apologize." Jarn'dor returned her kiss, quietly wondering how she always knew what he was about to say.

The High Priest walked up the great steps to the altar, holding a bag in his hand. When he arose, Blood Priests swarmed around him like vultures, each eyeing the bag with interest. From within the bag, the High Priest drew out several items, handing one to each of the Blood Priests.

Jarn'dor craned his neck, and saw that each priest had a seemingly random item. One had a piece of bone, another had a multi-colored rock.

"Bruddas and sistahs," roared the High Priest, the crowd instantly falling silent, "Today, we bring fort' Hakkar da Soulflayer!" The troll's cries were deafening, the very foundations of Zul'Gurub rumbling from there applause.

"Wit his powa," continued the elder priest, "We will reclaim every piece of land we be losin' to da oda races!" The crowd cheered, and the troll motioned for them to be silent.

"When da sun be blotted out, we be usin' da talismans we acquired to summon our Loa, with a great sacrifice!" The crowd was dead silent, hanging on the High Priest's words.

Jarn'dor looked up to the sky, as one edge of the sun began to darken, a black edge creeping over the bright orb. The High Priest ripped one final talisman out of the bag, a shriveled troll heart.

Vyndakian's eyes locked onto it at the same time as Jarn'dor's did. It was Zi'bal's missing heart!

The crowd cheered as one half of the sun vanished in shadow. "For five minutes," continued the High Priest, "Da sun will be eclipsed, more den enough time ta summon da Soulflayer into our world!" Each priest began a summoning spell, a great pentagram forming under the sacrifice's feet.

As they began to chant, clouds opened up in the sky, and rain began to fall. Jarn'dor eyes looked up, as the crowd began to scream. Falling from the clouds was not rain; it was blood.

"Yes," roared Vyndakian, "Even Azeroth bleeds from the power of our god!" The crowd screamed, cheering once they got over the shock.

"Now," stated the High Priest, "Da Blood Prophet will begin da sacrifice!" The crowd cheered as Vyndakian walked forward, his Runeblade glowing ominously.

Jarn'dor locked eyes with Vyndakian, as the sun was eclipsed, throwing Azeroth into shadow.

The Death Knight looked at his friend sadly. "I'm sorry…" Jarn'dor spit at his feet.

"No ya not," retorted the Druid, and Vyndakian winked at him.

"You're right," he replied, "I'm not." In one swift motion, the Elf spun, and lopped off one of the High Priest's hands. The one holding the troll heart.

As the Priest screamed in agony, the heart flew off the altar, down into the crowd. It landed in the outstretched hand of one of the cloaked figures, who ripped off his cloak.

Zi'bal clutched his heart, a grin on his face, as he let out a raptor-like cry. Instantly the cloaked figures sprang into action, the Bloodraptor Clan throwing aside their coverings.

Jarn'dor watched as all hell broke loose in Zul'Gurub, trolls turning to face the sudden attack. Vyndakian sliced the ropes holding him and the other sacrifices, grinning at the druid.

"Didn't really think I'd betray my best friend, did you?" The troll, chuckled, shifting into his bear form.

"For a minute," replied the monstrous bear, "I nearly did." The mighty druid leaped into the crowd as Jaz'renthi shifted into a jungle cat, adding her own havoc into the mix. Golion looked at Vyndakian, stunned.

The Death Knight drew another runeblade from under his cloak, tossing it to the half-elf before hacking apart one of the Blood Priests.

Zi'bal fought his way up to the altar, grinning at the sight of Tezeek setting a Berserker troll aflame. He enjoyed the carnage for a time, but he quickly ran up the monolithic altar, joining the brawl at the top.

Vyndakian sliced a priest from head to foot, bisecting him in a fountain of blood. He spun and unintentionally crossed blades with Zi'bal.

"Glad you could join the party," said the Death Knight, a grin on his face. Zi'bal chuckled.

"Wouldn't be missin' it for da world," retorted the chieftain, disengaging blades with the elf.

The High Priest rose, clutching the bloody stump that was his arm. He eyed the two, and a grin spread across his face.

"Vyndakian," began the priest, "Dis scum don' be knowin' ya powa! He would walk all ova ya and treat ya like rapta dung!" Vyndakian narrowed his eyes at Zi'bal, knowing it all to be true. Zi'bal bared his teeth.

"Strike him down," continued the weakened, old troll, "And you can rule over him and everyting else unda Hakkar!"

Vyndakian grinned at Zi'bal, and in unison the two plunged their blades into the High Priest's gut.

"No thanks," replied the Death Knight, "I'd like to work out our family issues first." The pair ripped their blades out of the troll, pushing him off the altar. Zi'bal looked at Vyndakian, nodding.

The two looked out over the city, as the Bloodraptor Clan was slowly being forced back, the trolls regrouping and focusing on them.

"Retreat," roared Zi'bal, "Retreat to the Temple of Bethekk!" Vyndakian leaped from the altar, carving himself a path to the mighty structure, paving the road with blood.

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor battered down the door to Bethekk's temple, crushing an unfortunate worshipper underneath the mighty stone plate. The druid returned to his troll form as two guards rushed him, holding javelins.<p>

The druid scorched one with moonfire, dodging the other guard's attempts to gore him. He reached out and snapped the end off of his spear, driving the sharpened rock through the soldier's brain.

The druid sighed as the guard fell dead at his feet. Jarn'dor abhorred fighting, but this time it was the only thing that could help his Clan escape.

The Bloodraptor Clan rushed into the Temple, Vyndakian and Golion keeping the horde of trolls at bay. The pair of warriors leapt backwards as Zim'bawa threw up a wall of fire, blocking the Gurubashi from entering the temple.

Vyndakian clapped Golion on the back as Zim'bawa slumped back against the wall. Jarn'dor smiled at Jaz'renthi, hugging her as she shifted back to her troll form.

"What now," questioned a troll, his hands covered in blood. The Clan murmured in agreement.

"He's right," added Vyndakian, "That wall of flame won't keep them back forever." Zi'bal pondered for a moment, looking at Jarn'dor.

"Jarn, how far down does dis temple go?" asked the chieftain, and all eyes fell on the druid.

"It goes far down, at least 100 feet," replied Jarn'dor. Zi'bal nodded, ordering the clan down into the temple's depths.

The Clan assembled down in what appeared to be a room of worship in the temple.

"A'right," said the Chieftain, "Kisha'rowyn, Zim'bawa, and I will be attemptin' ta put togeda a portal for escape!" The sound of troll feet on the floor above them broke his speech, the cries of the Zandalari Empire reaching the Bloodraptor's ears.

Zi'bal could only nod as the trio began to construct a portal, everyone else looking in stark terror. Jarn'dor sighed, stepping forward so he could be seen.

"Bloodrapta," he shouted, "We will come away from dis! We survived da Cataclysm, and years of inactivity. Da Clan will come away from dis, stronga den eva!"

His comrades cheered, taking up arms as the Gurubashi barreled into the room, and bloody fighting ensued.

Zalaman fired bullet after bullet from his gun, his attackers dropping like flies. The experienced marksman grinned, thinking this was far too easy. A troll escaped from the grasp of Vyndakian, charging the hunter

Zalaman was knocked to the ground, and the troll raised a mighty axe. As the mighty hunter cried out, a serpent coiled around the foe, sinking it's fangs into the troll's skin.

The axe-wielding fiend fell to the ground in its death-throws as the Wind Serpent unfolded its wings, hovering to land on Zalaman's shoulder. The troll rose, stroking his pet lovingly. A mighty roar shook the room as a Berserker charged down the stairs, throwing aside Bloodraptor Clan members. The duo rushed to meet the threat head-on.

Golion hacked a troll to pieces, grinning as its blood splashed on his face. The Half-elf felt closer to his revenge with every kill. He looked over to the troll Vyndakian had called Zi'bal. The gargantuan figure was obviously very well versed in warlock magic.

"Zi'bal Bloodrapta!" cried a voice. Golion looked toward the sound as the High Priest pushed through the crowd, covered in his own blood. Zi'bal did not budge, his spellcrafting dominating his focus.

Everything seemed to slow down, as the High Priest's hand filled with shadows. Golion roared, running towards the troll. As the Priest let loose with a bolt of dark magic, the Half-elf leaped, taking the bolt face first. He slammed into the wall as the old troll screeched in anger.

Golion rose, pushing off from the wall, driving his blade into the Priest's heart. "That, was for my parents," he roared, ripping out his blade and removing the troll's legs. "That was for my home!" The High Priest fell to the ground as Golion brought his blade down, beheading the troll.

"And that, was for me," murmured the fighter, his revenge sated. His legs suddenly gave out, a feeling of weakness spreading throughout his body. The Half-elf fell to the floor, tumbling into darkness.

Vyndakian fought back the Gurubashi as a sudden bang forced his opponents to the ground.

"Da portal is ready," roared Zi'bal, "GO!" The Bloodraptor disengaged from their foes, dragging the injured and leaping through the portal. Vyndakian looked over as Golion fell to the ground, covered in the blood of the High Priest.

The Death Knight scooped up the Half-Breed, leaping through the portal.

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor, Vyndakian, and Zi'bal stood over a grave in Eversong, watching as a Grovekeeper filled it in. Buried within it, was Golion.<p>

The trio turned to walk away, each reflecting inwardly. But all thought back to what had happened when they returned home.

Golion had become deathly ill, his flesh decaying. After taking him to a shaman, they understood that he had been afflicted with some sort of flesh-eating curse. Vyndakian knew that it had been the High Priest.

On Golion's deathbed, the trio learned that he had leaped in front of the bolt meant for Zi'bal, saving the chieftain.

"Zi'bal," spoke the weak Half-Elf, "You must serve your people still… My time… Is up…"

After a few quiet words with Vyndakian, he had expired.

Jarn'dor looked between his comrades. "What now?" Zi'bal sighed, looking up at the sky.

"We do what we can," spoke the warlock, "And try ta recover from dis… We lost people, but we have at least delayed da Zandalari." The druid could only nod, but Vyndakian remained silent.

The three walked away, as the sun set over the woods.

* * *

><p>A figure slipped up to the hill, shovel in hand. Vyndakian Sunshatter drove the shovel into the grave, turning aside the dirt. He quietly dug up Golion, his mind fixed.<p>

"_Vyndakian,_" the Half-Elf had whispered on his deathbed, "_I only ask one thing from you… The one gift you can give me… I want life, life no healer can give to me… I can't be saved, but I want to live…Give me… Undeath…_"

The Death Knight shuddered at the memory, remembering the desperation in the fighters blue eyes, the unwillingness to give up.

Vyndakian slammed his shovel into a wooden casket, and leapt into the grave. He was unsure if it was right, bringing back a dead man.

"Damn it Vyn," he muttered, "You've done worse lately, one more thing won't ruin you." With a mighty heave, the Elf ripped open Golion's coffin. He nearly cried out, most of Golion's skin having been devoured by the Priest's curse.

The Death Knight put one hand over the corpse's heart, one over the head. He began to murmur quietly, forcing his power to leech into the corpse, feeding it energy.

Thunder boomed overhead, splitting the quiet night. As Vyndakian worked, winds in the Forest picked up, the sound of their moaning distracting the necromancer for only a moment.

As the weather seemed to harass the Death Knight, he finished his work.

And Golion opened his eyes.


	8. The Lord of Blackrock

_**ATTENTION: This Chapter of The Gurubashi Druid contains controversial information of the MMORPG, World of Warcraft, including a new ruler of Blackrock Mountain, a Magmawyrm not under Scourge Control, and the Blackrock and Dark Iron working together under one leader. None of this is to be used in game, except for the RP of the Bloodraptor Clan. Please enjoy. **_

* * *

><p>Jaz'renthi flew through the night, her bat form making the long journey easier on her. She quickly passed over the mountain range of the Burning Steppes, and turned towards the most prominent structure, Blackrock Mountain.<p>

A few days previous, she had received a letter from Golion, which was meant for Zi'bal. It had detailed that the Undead had gone to spy upon the Blackrock Orcs, after reports of suspicious activities in the area were reported by the Horde outpost there.

She had received the letter while she had been working in Zul'Drak, in Northrend. The bat that was Jaz'renthi shuddered in mid-flight. Drakkuru, a power troll, had betrayed her in Drak'Tharon Keep, leaving her to die in exchange for unbelievable power.

While in the Frozen Wastes, she was also tasked with killing a few of the corrupted Loa the Ice Trolls worshiped. Those acts… had changed her. And she knew it. The druid enjoyed it, seeing the world through now different eyes. She saw the cruelty around her, and was indifferent to it.

Blackrock Mountain suddenly loomed in front of the bat, and Jaz'renthi swerved to avoid it. She had not realized how wrapped up in her thoughts and memories she had become, instantly refocusing on the monolithic structure. Her ears perked, taking in the sounds coming from above her.

She began to rise, riding a draft of warm air. The druid enjoyed feeling weightless, as if there were nothing to hold her down. As she flew higher and higher, a platform came into view; a missing piece of the mountain revealing a lavishly adorned room.

The druid flew into the room, dodging the mighty pillars supporting a broken roof. She looked to the far wall, and spotted a man sitting on a lavishly adorned throne, surrounded by servants. The bat would have gasped if she could, recognizing the Undead perched upon the mighty stone seat.

Golion had servants waiting on him hand and foot, a small High-elven boy pouring red wine into a crystal goblet at the Undead's right. Each of the servants had raven colored hair, even the Elf-child whose skin was too pale too possibly match it.

The once Half-Elf was now dead as the grave, the flesh eating curse having stripped him of most of his skin, revealing the slowly yellowing bone underneath. His eyes were now an intense amber, far different from the ice-blue they had been in life. These eyes were now closed in thought, even as he was swooned over and praised.

Golion himself was dressed in Midnight Black robes, stretching from his massive shoulders down to his feet, which were clad in some form of plate greave. Encasing his hands, were thick, plate-mail gauntlets, pauldrons of the same make adorning his shoulders.

Jaz'renthi landed, shifting form. She scowled at the figure on the throne, even as the servants turned to look at the intruder.

"What game ya be playin," seethed the druid, as Golion's eyes snapped open. His waiters and praisers let out a collective hiss, as his hand raised up to quiet them. The Undead cupped his hands, grinning.

"Well, well, well," murmured the warrior, "This is a surprise. Jaz'renthi flying into Blackrock Mountain… Tell me, is Zi'bal with you?" Each of the servants looked at the Troll, appraising her as the Undead lounged upon his throne.

"No," answered Jaz'renthi sternly, holding up his letter, "He told me ta return dis to da senda." She grinned sarcastically, balling up his letter and throwing it into a nearby brazier, watching the flames consume the parchment.

Golion's eyes narrowed. He spoke in a strange language, and his servants slowly began to dissipate, leaving the large chamber by a metal door adorning a nearby wall. The two stared each other down, and Golion slowly smiled.

"Ya neva answered me," said Jaz'renthi, interrupting the silence, "What game ya playin', Ragereava?" The Undead laughed, sipping from his crystal cup.

"A game," mused Golion, sloshing the wine in its glass, "Yes, I suppose it is like a game… A game of chess." The warrior set his cup down, clasping his hands. "Then let's play a game, Jaz'renthi."

"Wha' kind o' game," inquired the Troll, already regarding the Undead as a nutcase. Golion chuckled, as his shadow grew, the flickering flames distorting the slowly growing darkness.

"A guessing game," chuckled Golion. He tapped his cheek, and then grinned darkly. "Tell me, what do you think has the quickest wit, and a tongue like liquid fire?" His imposing shadow spread across the floor, and Jaz'renthi turned to watch it.

The great darkness began to take shape, stretching and morphing. The light projected by the braziers did nothing to distort it, as two mighty wings stretched out from the mass. However, these were not leather bound wings, they were all bone.

"Dragon," murmured Jaz'renthi, as Golion cackled. The shadow's mighty head did the same, opening up in a roar. As the druid pivoted to look at the dragon, the Elvish child returned, but he was different.

Slowly, the boy's skin became reptilian, turning a pitch black. Small wings poked out from the child's back as a tail shot out from his rear, the green eyes quickly yellowing and turning into slits.

The Black Whelpling let out a puff of smoke, attempting to look intimidating. Strangely enough, Jaz'renthi was unsurprised by these revelations, having seen so many of these things in Northrend. Golion smiled down at her from his throne.

"Tell me Jaz'renthi," continued the dragon, "What did Nefarian leave behind that is useful to me…?" The druid sighed, getting tired of these word games.

"I don' know, eggs?" Golion sighed, pushing off from his throne. With goblet in hand he walked down the steps from his throne, to stand at Jaz'renthi's level.

"Nefarian left everything I need to fulfill my plans," began the Magmawyrm, "Two armies, an impregnable fortress, and with Ragnaros gone, a gigantic egg incubator." He walked over to the balcony, looking out onto the land. "Jaz'renthi, what do you see?"

The Troll stepped up beside the Undead, narrowing her eyes. Unlike Golion, she could not see the ground far below, her eyes too weak.

"Uhm," murmured Jaz'renthi, "Mountains?" The dragon beside her covered his face with his palm, shaking his head.

"No," replied the man, "Down there, are Dark Iron Dwarves, Ogres, Alliance and Horde. All separate factions, fighting and warring. They destroy our lands, our homes with their constant bickering." Jaz'renthi only nodded, wanting to see where Golion was going with this.

"What if they were all united," pondered the mighty creature, its physical façade of a face twisted into thought, "If they came together as one kingdom? One rule, one world, and no more destruction." Jaz'renthi looked at the shorter figure, and wondered if he was as mad as his Patriarch.

"Ya be soundin' like Deat'wing." Golion's face twisted into a mask of hate, and the crystal goblet in his hands shattered.

"Never," warned the Dragon, "Speak that name around me." He looked back over the horizon, wrapped in his thoughts. "If it weren't for Jarn'dor, my plans couldn't have come as far as they have."

Jaz'renthi raised a brow, curious. This did not go past the man's notice, and he continued on.

"Once I heard of his… exploits within Zul'Gurub, I knew that I could easily manipulate your Clan to serve my needs." Golion chuckled. "You see, the Bloodraptor are one of the most influential clans in the Horde, but none of you realize it… It was simple for me to pull the strings and guide you to fulfill my goals."

Upon hearing this, Jaz'renthi was furious. Everything she had suffered for, everything she had worked to complete, was planned by an insane fool? Golion laughed hollowly at her expression.

"Don't be so upset," continued the evil corpse, a grin tickling the corners of his mouth, "Most of what's occurred has been pure coincidence. Except for Zul'Gurub, that was all my doing.

"By sticking Vyndakian in his paradise, he would fall into self doubt and think he was weak. But with Jarn'dor… Making him helpless was all that I needed. Now he never leaves his precious Emerald Dream, always stuck within it and trying to become stronger.

"Me dying for Zi'bal also completed part of my plan, because Vyndakian brought me back to life, and gave me the eternal existence I require… I also fell into some form of good favor with your precious 'Chieftain,' and I easily came into a position of authority.

"The rest of them are no real threat," finished Golion, "They're all weaklings, or have too many fatal flaws." The creaking of an opening portcullis cut him off, as two Blackrock Orcs dragged in a Dark Iron dwarf, the short man babbling on in his native tongue.

"Lord Ragereaver," spoke one Orc, bowing, "This Dark Iron was found raiding one of the eggs within the Molten Core." Golion spun on his heel, his face contorted in absolute hate. The two orcs immeadietly backed away from the dwarf, the smaller man falling to his knees.

He started to beg, babbling on for mercy. Jaz'renthi watched as a change overcame the Undead at her side, as the visible gaps in his skin began to glow white hot, filling with fire. His amber eyes filled with fire, and he walked towards the Dark Iron Dwarf, picking him up by the throat.

The short man screamed in terror as Golion threw him against a pillar, and spewed molten fire from his mouth, the hot lava destroying the dwarf. As she listened to the screams, Jaz'renthi became terrified. The thought of leaping from the platform crossed her mind many times, but then she looked at what remained of the dwarf.

Golion's temper slowly cooled, as he returned to his normal state, the fire in his body going out. The Orcs were clearly terrified; looking between the charred remains of what was once an egg thief, and their master. Jaz'renthi stood nearby, but the look of

absolute fear on her face painted her inner thoughts on a public canvas.

The Undead turned away. "Leave the body," he ordered, and the Orcs hurried to leave, bowing all the while as they left. He looked out from the balcony, at the mountain range.

"Now," began the killer, "There are three options from here… You can join me; pledge your eternal loyalty and service to myself. The second is you can suffer in silence. After all, once one person knows, how long will it take for the public to know? And what would the Horde think, of the Bloodraptor harboring a Black Dragon?"

Golion grinned, and Jaz'renthi knew he had her backed into a corner. The druid slowly waited for him to continue, but it was clear that the warrior wouldn't.

"And da final choice," she asked, already fearing the answer. A horrible smile creeped across Golion's face.

"You die," he stated simply. She snorted, unimpressed by the beast. The druid turned to face him, a smile on her face.

"Afta Nort'rend, I ain't afraid o' death." The Dragon laughed, and the horrible sound rang throughout his mountain, reverberating back as a hollow echo.

"Then you'll feel unimaginable pain," spoke the Undead, "You shall burn in the fires of my wrath, your pain unending until the world ends." This, Jaz'renthi was afraid of.

Her choices were laid out before her, and she looked at each carefully. The druid's thoughts drifted back a far way, to the time where she had made herself promise an oath. Jaz'renthi looked at Golion, and her eyes held a fierce determination.

"I be joinin' ya, Lord Ragereava," she vowed, bowing slightly. Golion cackled, looking up into the night.

"Good," he said, the warrior's face turned up towards the night sky. "Of course, I can't trust you just yet… First you must complete a few tasks for me… Imprison Jarn'dor in the Emerald Nightmare, and keep Vyndakian in self-doubt."

Jaz'renthi nodded. "And Zi'bal?" The Dragon chuckled. Of course, he did not care if the Chieftain lived or died. He was just another pawn.

"Turn him if you can," replied the Undead, musing, "And while you're at it, find me a consort. I will not waste my time raising hatchlings when there are lands to conquer."

The druid could only nod, shifting her form into that of a bat. As quickly as possible, she flew away, speeding through the night. Her thoughts drifted back to her tasks, and her mind settled on Jarn'dor.

_"Betta den dyin',"_ she thought, as she disappeared through the mountains.

* * *

><p>Golion watched the druid turn into a speck, and chuckled. Everything had turned out according to plan. There had been this one hiccup, Jaz'renthi appearing instead of Zi'bal, but that could easily be overlooked. If it had been Zi'bal, then the dwarf would have been replaced with the charred corpse of a troll.<p>

The Undead listened as the Whelpling fluttered over, turning into the Elvish boy once again.

"Lord Ragereaver," whispered the boy, "When will you two next meet?" Golion chuckled, as his form shifted. His robe fell away as his body lengthened and grew, turning into a great Dragon of bones and lava. The Magmawyrm rolled its shoulders, pieces of magma flying around the room.

"Upon the heath," replied Obsidion Terrorwing, "There to meet with her Macbeth… When the hurlyburly's done, and when the battle's lost, and won." The elf boy looked up at his lord quizzically. Obsidion looked down at the elf.

"It's a human play. Called Macbeth… Go read it." With a mighty sweep of his wings, the Lord of Blackrock leapt from his perch, returning to raze the Eastern Kingdoms like he had in life.


	9. Three Lights in the Darkness

There was nothing Vyndakian could not endure. He had destroyed entire armies, leveled villages, and had his entire family murdered. The Death Knight had created diseases, brought the dead to life, and literally pieced together an abomination, one separate part at a time. But this…. This was unbearable!

The Death Knight sat deep down in the darkest cave of the Wailing Caverns, his emerald eyes creating the only source of light. Even in this advanced darkness, his Darksworn eyes could make out the shapes around him as if he were in the brightest sun. Beside him, was a crude stone bed, and on that bed, was Jarn'dor.

Vyndakian stood up, pacing around the room for the umpteenth time in days. He quietly went over what had led him here, for he couldn't even begin to believe it.

* * *

><p>The Death Knight snapped his reins, urging his Skeletal Gryphon onward. The animal was all bones, but it was the only replacement he could find for…<p>

Vyndakian shut the thoughts of Ravage out of his head. He had to focus. The Death Knight looked down onto the plains of Durotar, and his mount swooped down upon his prey.

Jaz'renthi was hunched low over her raptor as it leaped around the flooded Southfury Watershed. Her eyes were filled with a determination, something even the Elf could see from up high. What concerned him most of all is what was tied to the back of her mount.

Jarn'dor was slumped over the end of the screeching raptor, his form thin. The Druid had spent far too much time in the Emerald Dream without care and his body had wizened and grown weak. He was just skin and bones, his tusks looking far to over sized to belong on his body.

Jaz'renthi and her pursuer had come far, crossing into the Barrens. As she turned to head towards the Wailing Caverns, Vyndakian swooped down, landing in front of a surprised Jaz'renthi.

"Stop," spoke Vyndakian, dismounting. Jaz'renthi reigned in her mount, the raptor squealing.

"He be goin' back," growled the Troll, "Dis time, for good." Vyndakian bared his fangs, blocking the entrance to the Wailing Caverns.

"You put him in there," retorted the Death Knight, "You'll kill him. He's too weak to survive unattended." Jaz'renthi's gaze did not waver.

"He has a better chance in dere, den he will out hea," whispered the Druid. Vyndakian prepared to attack Jaz'renthi, when a noise turned his attention away.

Zi'bal walked up beside Jaz'renthi, and Vyndakian blinked in surprise. Perhaps it was chance, or perhaps not.

"What be goin on hea," asked the Chieftain, his eyes gazing over the two. Neither spoke, their gazes locked to each other with pure intensity. Zi'bal chuckled, shaking his head.

"Well den… Do wutcha gotta do." Vyndakian was caught off guard, as Jaz'renthi commanded roots to wrap around his body, squeezing him tight. The wind was crushed out of him, but he watched as a demon appeared at Zi'bal's side, the dark blue form taking Jarn'dor's body.

The Voidwalker carried the Druid into the caves, as Zi'bal and Jaz'renthi followed. Vyndakian struggled, trying to break the grasp the roots had on him.

"Jarn'dor," cried the Death Knight, "Jarn'dor!"

* * *

><p>The Elf sighed, shaking away his memories. He had blacked out, and when he awoke he had wandered down here. Since then, he had cared for Jarn'dor, hoping that he might wake up.<p>

A tremor stirred Vyndakian from his thoughts, and a mighty roar split the silence.

* * *

><p><em>Jarn'dor didn't know how long he had been here, but it was suffering incarnate. The Druid writhed in agony, as what was the Emerald Nightmare tortured his mind, its agents gnawing upon his worst fears, turning them into a dark reality. <em>

_ The Troll was unsure of how he had returned to the Dream, but he knew that one moment he had been fighting a troll, and the rest was agony. _

_ Time and time again, Jarn'dor watched as his friends were slaughtered, reborn, and died again, and he could do nothing to stop it. Voices whispered to him, goading him, belittling him, and he knew they were right. _

_ "Liar," murmured one, "Telling your friends that you would always be there." He watched as Vyndakian fought off a virtual army, protecting the Druid. As the Darksworn turned to yell something, an arrow pierced his skull. _

_ "Fiend," muttered another voice, "Speaking to your imbecilic friends as if you knew all the answers. You don't…" Jarn'dor saw Nek'tan being gutted, the Zandalar ripping him open upon a mighty altar. _

_ "Traitor," whispered Jaz'renthi, suddenly appearing before him, "Leavin' me for dis Dream… I spent so many nights alone… Cause o' you!" The Druid screamed as his mate ripped out his heart, watching as it continued to beat. _

_ "Mon…" Jarn'dor reeled from the vision. "Mon…" He heard it again, as a three fingered hand reached out for him. "Mon… Take ma hand…" _

_ As the nightmares and voices roared around him, Jarn'dor took the hand. _

* * *

><p>A gout of liquid fire was belched into the main cavern, causing Vyndakian to duck for cover. The lava melted all in its path, turning the animals into gibbering slag, and setting any plants it didn't touch on fire.<p>

"Druid," roared a voice, "Lord Ragereaver sends his regards!" A river of lava burst through the cavern roof, nearly hitting Vyndakian as it carved through in its destructive path.

The Death Knight raced back through the maze of tunnels, ducking and dodging as the lava flowed ahead of him, the liquid fire carving its own path. Vyndakian leaped over one of the minor flows, and a pillar of the burning liquid burst through the cavern's roof.

Vyndakian hit the ground and tried to leap to the side, but a great, searing pain brought him to his knees. He held his face, and new he had been hit by a portion of the lava. But he couldn't stop now.

He rose to his feet, and continued to run, pushing aside a boulder covering a doorway. Vyndakian ran into the chamber and scooped Jarn'dor up into his arms. The Elf turned, to see that his escape had been cut off by lava.

_Well then, _he thought, _I'll have to make my own._

* * *

><p><em>Jarn'dor looked around, blinking. A troll sat beside him, panting. The two grinned, both wearing the marks of the Bloodraptor. Jarn'dor clapped the other troll on the back. <em>

_ "Flak'za," he said, greeting the other druid. Flak'za chuckled, pulling his fellow troll to his feet. _

_ "Ya be lucky I'm strollin' by," replied the Troll, with a smirk on his face, "Apparently, ya be a wanted mon, mon." Jarn'dor chuckled. _

_ "Den someone asked ya ta find me?" Flak'za could only nod. The two stood, surrounded by darkness on every side. It blotted out the scenery, the sky, and the earth below them. They were trapped in the Emerald Nightmare. _

_ Shadows reached out to the two, trying to grab them like vile tentacles. Jarn'dor began to cast spells, trying to keep the wicked tendrils away from him. The shadows receded, but only returned with greater force, slowly encroaching upon the druids. _

_ Soon, Flak'za fell to his knees, as the Nightmare claimed him too. A beautiful Blood Elf appeared in front of him, kissing him deeply. It was his love, Kaoru, and the Elf was doing so many… Enchanting things to him. It was if the world stood still, and it was just them. _

_ Jarn'dor yelled a warning, but Flak'za didn't hear it. Kaoru trailed kisses down his cheek, slowly unbuttoning her top. She moaned in his arms, praising him. Suddenly she grew very pale, and fell limp into his arms. _

_ The Troll looked her over, unsure of what happened. She breathed out one last moan, and died. _

_ "No," whispered Flak'za, "No…NO!" Kaoru slowly turned into a pink puddle and the scene shifted, as she was attacked by a group of Gnolls. Flak'za tried to move, but he found himself unable to, locked in his spot. _

_ One by one, each Gnoll pounced on the elf, cutting her deeply. She soon fell to her knees, and the leader slit her throat, her blood gushing and covering the others in a fount of bright red. _

_ Flak'za fell to his knees, screaming. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and ripped him back, the scene returning to blackness. _

_ "Mon, don't let ya guard down," roared Jarn'dor as he slammed a shadow tendril with his staff, "Dey'll take ya into da darkness!" The Druid roared, a wave of natural power emanating from him. The tendrils shriveled, retreating. _

_ "Flak'za," whispered the Troll, "You must leave. Before da Nightmare claims ya." The other Druid could only nod. _

_ "Follo' do'," replied Flak'za as he vanished, returning to his body in the real world. Jarn'dor turned, as the shadows continued their attack with renewed vigour. _

_ The Troll began to beat them back, as they took form. His nightmare, Atal'Hakkar took shape, chuckling darkly. _

_ "You think you're strong," roared the Soulflayer, "But you will join others in this Nightmare!" Jarn'dor cried out as the Blood God bore down upon him. He unleashed the strongest burst of magic he could, as Hakkar's tail sunk into his heart._

* * *

><p>Vyndakian exploded outward from the cavern entrance, collapsing on the ground. He panted heavily, clutching his friend in his arms. The escape was narrow, but they had made it.<p>

The Death Knight stood, to look out from a mountain range on top of the Wailing Caverns. He had no clue what had caused the magma, but he was glad to escape with his life.

The mountain exploded, throwing Vyndakian backwards like a rag doll. A mighty, purple drake slammed through the ancient rock, ash and smoke filling Vyndakian's lungs.

The Twilight Drake took off, unknowing that the Elf had escaped with Jarn'dor. In the Drake's talons, was a clay pot, with the lid sealed shut?

Vyndakian would have time to worry about that later. He picked up the Druid and hoisted him over his shoulder. He'd take him to Moonglade, and place him in the care of the Cenarion Circle.

Then he'd figure out what the hell was going on.

* * *

><p>Golion sat upon his throne, atop of Blackrock Mountain. And he was not amused. His advisors and messengers had brought him nothing but useless information all day. Enemy positions and foolish alliances did not concern him.<p>

What he seethed about now, was Jaz'renthi. A few days ago, he had tracked her down, and had learned that she had locked Jarn'dor in the Emerald Nightmare. But then, she had snuck back into his lair, into the Molten Core, and had stolen one of his dragon eggs!

His grip upon the stone throne tightened. Only a small portion of his clutch was his own. Some had been stolen from Onyxia and Nefarian, both were failures in his eyes, and others from various dragons.

The downfall was, all the eggs were identical. Golion would not know which ones where his until they hatched. And until then, Jaz'renthi could have two of his own eggs. He couldn't risk that.

So, he had her imprisoned, deep within the depths of Blackrock Mountain, where the Dark Iron had carved themselves a home. Or, where they had.

Jaz'renthi had said someone aided him, and he knew all the Orcs here were under his sway. So, he had the city purged. Only those that fell onto their knees were spared. However, he had made sure they were subject to the most backbreaking, pain-enducing slave labor he could possibly imagine.

Right now, the Troll would be nearly halfway up the tower, to speak with Golion personally. Already, his Lieutenant, Ebberon, had returned from the Barrens with his ultimatum for Jaz'renthi.

Brutus, another of his Lieutenants, had returned from an expedition into Karazhan, the ancient tower of the Magus Medivh. He had brought the Lord of Blackrock exactly what he wanted, a book with Medivh's most powerful spells. Already, his operation had sped up, by at least a century with these spells.

And they had only used the ones on the first page.

The portcullis opened, and two Blackrock Orcs walked in, dragging a chained Jaz'renthi. Golion grinned, enjoying how the Orcs had followed his instructions. They had put her in solitary confinement, and better than that, they had some sort of harness on her.

The spiked harness looped up from her thighs, restricting how far she could step, looping around her arms, to restrict their motion, and linking up around her neck in a choker.

Golion rose as the two guards pushed Jaz'renthi to her knees, chuckling darkly. He took the urn from Ebberon, bouncing it in his hands.

"Well, well, well," spoke the Magmawyrm, "You've taken my family, Jaz'renthi, and I've taken yours. By putting Jarn'dor into the Emerald Dream, he's probably dead."

She spit at his feet. "He'll be hea," warned the Troll, "Ta kick ya ass!" Golion cackled, as did the rest of his court. It was one, unified laugh, directed at the Druid.

"I doubt it," replied the Lord, as he crouched in front of Jaz'renthi, "Mainly because, I saw to it that he burned." Jaz'renthi bared her teeth in defiance, so Golion continued.

"When you told me you had my eggs, I had already planned for Ebberon here to melt the Wailing Caverns." He set the urn in front of her. "In here, is all that's left of your mate. And to think, I couldn't have done it without you."

The assorted leaders laughed cruelly as Jaz'renthi reached out and picked up the urn. Golion watched as something broke inside her, but he was impressed she didn't show it.

"This is your last opportunity," began the Dragon, "To gain your favor with me, and return my eggs." Jaz'renthi slung many curses at Golion in Trollish, none of which he cared about.

"You see," he continued, "I had my comrade, Brutus, made a trip to Karazhan, to pick up an old spell-book." Golion laughed when he saw the fear in her eyes. "Don't worry, It's not the original spell-book, but it's good enough for me."

He waved to the guards, as they grabbed her choker, hauling the Troll to her feet. Golion sat down upon his throne, thumbing the pages of his new book.

"Put her back in her prison… I'd like to see her fight in the Dark Iron Arena soon." The Orcs nodded, hauling away Jaz'renthi. She hissed and cursed at the group of Lords, until the portcullis slammed shut.

Jaz'renthi was thrown into her cell, as the urn was ripped out of her hands. The Orcs laughed.

"Look what we got here," said one, as he pried open the lid, "It's your mate. Too bad you two can't do much anymore." The other laughed, as he swatted the pot out of his friend's hand.

The urn shattered on the cell floor, spreading its ashes everywhere. The Orcs guffawed as they left.

"Ashes to ashes," said one as the cell door slammed shut. Jaz'renthi fell to her knees, crying. Tears streamed down her face, as she tried her best to gather up the ashes.

Eventually, she gave up, sitting on the floor. It was because of her, Jarn'dor was dead. She would never see him again, feel his body against hers, or his love, ever…

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor opened his eyes, and took a breath. He placed his hand, where he had felt Hakkar's sting. There was nothing, as if it had never happened. Jarn'dor looked around, wondering where he was.<p>

As far as he could see, it was a rolling, green plain, covered in grasses. He looked to the night sky, and Jarn'dor could not recognize the stars, but the moon was full. The Druid could not think of where he was. A shuffling came from behind him, and he turned, to look at a shady figure.

This man, for that is what it appeared to be, was covered from head to foot in a dark, black cloak. In one gloved hand, it held a scythe, like one used to cut down grass. Jarn'dor and the figure watched each other for a long time.

"Are… Are ya Deat'," whispered the Druid. The figure shrugged its shoulders, the rest of its body immobile.

"Sometimes," it replied, its voice as dry as a desert. Jarn'dor was suddenly washed in a wave of fear.

"Den…Am I dead?" Death walked forward, its scythe tapping along the ground.

"No," replied its cold voice.

"Then," asked the Troll, "Am I alive?" Death shrugged a neutral gesture. Jarn'dor looked back up to the sky.

"Where… Where am I?" At this, Death stopped walking, resting next to the Druid.

"You are at a place, between worlds," spoke the figure, sounding tired, "Where there is no life, or death. Where there is substance, and there is nothing. Where time has no meaning, and it has all meaning. This is a waiting place."

Jarn'dor looked at Death. "Mon… Where am I?" The figure pulled down its hood, to reveal a bleached-white skull. If it could look sad, it did right then and there.

"My friend… Welcome… To Purgatory…"


	10. Life, Death, and Cracking a Few Eggs

Golion was perched upon his throne, and every member of his council was dead silent. In two days, Golion had murdered his lieutenant, Brutus, for secreting away eggs of his clutch. He had annihilated most of the dwarves in his mountain, and had secured the Warglaives of Azzinoth from the rotting corpse of Illidan Stormrage, he and his warlocks having ransacked the monolithic place of worship.

But what angered the Warlord, was that Jaz'renthi and half of his Detention Block had escaped.

Golion tightened his fist, digging great divets from his throne, his talons scraping away the stone. Ebberon, his other lieutenant, had released Jaz'renthi; doing away with every lock and every protective spell in the Detention Block. Every single prisoner had been released, all dangerous to his plans.

The sound of the opening doors drew each of the councilmen's eyes to the portcullis, as two Blackrock Orcs dragged Ebberon. The lieutenant was chained in his human disguise, the magical restrains preventing him from returning to his draconic form.

Ebberon was forced to his knees, and Golion rose from his throne. The chained man bared his teeth.

"Your plans will never succeed," hissed the lesser Dragon, as his former-master descended the steps, "You'll never manage to destroy the Wyrmrest Accord." The Dark Lord laughed, and the councilmen's bones were chilled from the sound.

"I will do more than that," proclaimed Golion, "I shall become the Dragon-King! And when that's done… I'll breed out every other flight, until there are only Black Dragons."

Ebberon's eyes widened in terror as the council murmured, wondering if their master had gone mad. Golion hooked his talons under his former lieutenant's neck, and gave him a dishonourable discharge.

The assorted men and women screamed in terror as the Lord of Blackrock ripped Ebberon's head from his shoulders, a fount of blood flowing onto the mighty stone floor. Golion licked the blood from his lips, as he tossed it to a nearby Orc.

"Put it on a pike," ordered the Undead, "And let it be a warning to all who would double-cross me." He walked out onto his balcony, as the council dispersed murmuring their discontent. A warlock followed Golion onto the balcony.

"Milord," inquired the warlock, his head bowed, "With Jaz'renthi gone, it is only a matter of time before all know of us." The Magmawyrm rolled his talons across the stone banister.

"Transport my clutch," he ordered, "And prepare the rest for the aging. They must be hatched tomorrow." The warlock's head snapped up.

"Lord Terrorwing," whispered the warlock, despite his master's dislike of his true identity, "If we age the eggs any further, we could kill the hatchlings." Golion laughed, a cruel sound.

"Then I shall have my army," responded the Lord, "Dead, or Alive."

* * *

><p>Vyndakian sat in Moonglade, beside the body of Jarn'dor. It had been a week since he had rescued the Druid, and it had been one hell of one.<p>

A few days previous, he had begun to regain some of his previously lost memories. And he remembered something about the Blood Elf, Kaoru. After some investigating, they had discovered that Kaoru was his daughter. The only true family he had.

But Kisha'rowyn, his mate, did not take well to it. They had fought, and Kisha'rowyn had left him.

Vyndakian closed his eyes. The last thing he remembered about it was that he had thrown a package at Kisha'rowyn's feet. In that package, was the ring he planned to propose to her with.

Jaz'renthi surfaced from the floor below, forcing Vyndakian from his thoughts. She sat down, squeezing Jarn'dor's hand. The Druidess had returned a few days ago, and the Death Knight had made peace with her. The two were bonded by Jarn'dor, who was stuck in a permanent sleep.

"Any change," asked Jaz'renthi. The Elf shook his head sadly.

No one had seen the sleeping druid inside the Emerald Dream, but still he slumbered. Vyndakian yawned, having not slept in days.

"Go get some sleep," said the Druid, "I can watch him for a while yet, Mon." The Death Knight nodded gladly, sinking into a slumber. In moments, he was passed out in his chair.

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor sat down in the rolling fields of Purgatory. For days he had sat, and talked with the being who called itself Death. While he had claimed to have been born at the beginning of time, Jarn'dor had never seen or heard of him except in human fairy tales.<p>

"Those tales are usually right," Death had answered, "Surprisingly, the ravings of lunatics and madmen usually are." The Druid shook his head, focusing inwardly. He had tried multiple ways to escape, but it was clear that this plane existed separately from his home and the Dream.

"This place is meant for minds," The cloaked figure had explained, "when their bodies are still alive. No one has yet managed to return." Jarn'dor snorted in his meditation. He'd find a way to get home.

The sound of footsteps drew his attention back to Purgatory, as Death walked across the grassy fields. From what the Troll had seen, Death was all bone, preferring to wear a black cloak than let his aged skeleton shiver in the light breezes. The killer had explained that for eons he had been a "delivery boy," of souls, escorting them to the afterlife. Despite the Druid's unending questioning, Death wouldn't reveal what awaited them.

"It is for you to discover," he had replied repeatedly, much to Jarn'dor's dismay. The scythe-wielding man sat down beside the Druid. He set down his weapon, and the druid good see tiredness in his empty eye sockets, one that was as tangible as the bones Death was made of.

"Still trying to find a way home," asked Death, even as the Druid opened his mouth to tell him. He nodded in response.

"There is no escape from Purgatory," replied the Reaper, "No one has managed it." Jarn'dor growled.

"Der must be sometin'," begged the Druid, "Anytin' I can do at get back home." The skeleton shifted next to him slightly.

"My friend… There is one, but the stakes are very high." The Troll leapt to his feet, looking down at Death.

"What is it, Mon," he inquired excitedly, "Name it and it be done." The skeleton chuckled, his bones rattling.

"You must fight me," replied Death, "But the stakes are this: You win, you may return home. If you lose, you must replace me as the Usher of the Dead."

* * *

><p>Golion furrowed his brow as eggs were carted past him, taken from the Molten Core. While he could not distinguish his eggs from the others he had stolen, his Warlocks apparently could. While he disliked the demonic-mages, he had to trust them here; his own children were at stake.<p>

Once his eggs had been taken away, the warlocks began to engrave rings of power into the ground, etching strange runes and enchantments upon the great power lines. A Blackrock Warlock walked up beside him, and Golion bared his teeth.

"The journal did not call for this," seethed the Dragon. He had personally secured all the artifacts for the following spells, and he had studied Medivh's Journal. The aging spell they were about to use had not alluded to circles of power, or any sort of inscription for that matter.

"Lord Ragereaver," replied the Orc, "There are many eggs to age, and then they will be aged to maturity when they are hatched. These circles will only aid us for keeping the spell in check."

Golion snorted. He was unsure of what was about to happen, and he knew that these Warlocks would try and alter the spell. But he had his own little concoction planned.

As he had collected the artifacts, he had also collected biological materials from the most powerful beings he could find. It would only be a few moments longer until he could put them together.

The Warlocks quickly finished their circle, stepping back as Golion began to inspect it. While the circle was not his plan, he had instructed for the materials to be placed around the Core, taking the geothermal energy and absorbing it to fuel his spell.

A mighty chant rose from all of the Warlocks as they began to weave their spell, the eggs already growing and hatching. It was not long before Golion saw the first hatchling die, even as it grew to maturity. The Magmawyrm stood at the edge of the circle of power, and began to weave his own spell.

Once his words began to join the Warlock's the spell changed. The materials, now charged with the Molten Core's energy, flew to the very center of the circle of power. Soon, a mighty behemoth of bone and flesh began to take shape.

"Yes," roared Golion, his words drowned out by the hum of energy, "YES!" The mighty mass of flesh roared, as it stood upright. The mighty beast was cobble together of the most powerful parts he could find; the heart of a mighty Eredar Prince, the skull of Illidan Stormrage, and the body…. The body he had take from various kills, most of it Ebberon's.

The Magmawyrm grinned as his monster rose to its full, titanic height. The Warlocks trembled in terror, but were unable to flee, trapped by their spell.

"Must…Hear and obey," spoke the creature, its powerful bass voice rumbling the Core. Golion chuckled, even as the Warlocks began to speed up, their spells coming to an end.

"You are the Master of these Dragons," roared Golion, the behemoth nodding slowly, "You answer only to me!"

"Master…What is my name…?" Golion looked around, as Warlocks began to break away from their spells, the fully grown corpses of his Dragons leaping to life, roaring.

"You," commanded Golion, "Are Coresmasher, General of the Terrorwing Dragons!" The behemoth roared its name, as stalactites from the massive caverns crumbled. Warlocks and Dragon's alike were pinned by the mighty stones, screaming as their blood painted the ground.

"Your first task," ordered the Patriarch, "Is to take my children, and destroy these Warlocks. Leave no one alive inside this Molten Core!" Mighty wings flared out from Coresmasher's back, kicking up mighty winds. The Warlocks began to flee as the Dragons and Magmawyrms began to feast on them, devouring the demon-casters in single bites.

"Coresmasher smash," roared his mighty creation, as Golion exited the mighty hatchery, grinning at the sounds of chaos and destruction.

* * *

><p>Vyndakian snored himself awake as Druids rushed to hold down Jarn'dor's body, the corpse thrashing around on its bed. Jaz'renthi stood to the side, his brows furrowed in worry. Vyndakian rose from his chair as the lead Druid managed to hold down the Troll.<p>

"What's going on," inquired the Death Knight, even as Jarn'dor's body stopped twitching.

"He started thrashin'," replied Jaz'renthi, as the Druids dispersed. She dove by the bed, taking the now still hand in hers. Vyndakian stood by the bed, looking down at the Troll.

What the fel was going on?

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor was slammed backwards as Death twirled his scythe. They had been at this for hours, and the Druid had barely managed to stay alive. This Reaper was more powerful than Vyndakian and Zi'bal combined. His long, sweeping strikes flowed together elegantly, like a stream.<p>

The Troll forced his magic into the earth, and mighty roots burst through the earth. Death cut through them as they weaved a web, trying to entangle the skeleton. Soon the two were engaged in hand to hand combat, the Reaper with his scythe, and Jarn'dor with his fists.

They danced around each other for an age and a half, until Death sliced open Jarn'dor's arm. The Druid careened backwards, as the blood on the Scythe began to vanish, eaten by the wicked blade.

"I have lived for eternity," spoke Death, "You shall not defeat me." Jarn'dor rose, as the two leaped back into battle, dancing around each other.

Vyndakian watched as Jaz'renthi held the quivering form of Jarn'dor, his friend twitching and writhing occasionally. The Death Knight was unsure of what was happening, or if his friend was still even alive.

Jaz'renthi cried silently. She had thought he was dead for so long, she couldn't bear to lose Jarn'dor now. Vyndakian watched the Troll hug her lifeless mate. He was just glad that the beating of his heart assured he was alive.

* * *

><p>Golion laughed as he stood in his chamber, watching from his platform as Netherwing Dragons, Twilight Dragons, and his own Terrorwing Wyrms flew around Blackrock Mountain. The latter made of nothing but bone and magma.<p>

It had hurt the Patriarch to watch these hatchlings die, and then raise them again, but it was necessary. It had given him the army he needed to defend Blackrock. For a time.

The sound of the portcullis drew his attention away from the skies, as an Orc walked in, Coresmasher lumbering behind. The latter had adorned himself with the skulls of the demons his first kills had turned upon him, wielding a mighty axe made of the bones of a Dreadguard.

The Orc was dressed in the guise of a Warlock, and had been the only one not inside the Molten Core.

"Wiigarg Felmourne," mused Golion as the Orc bowed at his name, "You are one of the few left still loyal to me. You shall take the Netherwing and Twilight Dragons, as well as half of my Wyrms to Northrend." Wiigarg looked up.

"Lord Ragereaver," spoke the Orc, "Will you not join us?" The Magmawyrm shook his head.

"I must remain here for a time, until we are ready to safely hatch my eggs. We will have them all think I am dead, until it is too late." Coresmasher roared.

"You smart Master," spoke the behemoth, "Me go to cold land too?" Golion shook his head.

"No, my child," chided the Warlord, "You shall remain here. We will smash any of those who come to disrupt us." At the word smash, Coresmasher laughed in glee, clapping its massive hands like a small child.

"Milord," spoke Wiigarg, "I am already inside the Bloodraptor Clan… If you wish it, members can be dealt with." The Magmawyrm laughed at this, shifting and become Obsidion Terrorwing.

"No," roared the Dragon, the Flesh Behemoth cowering in his mighty presence, "I alone shall have the pleasure of wiping out the clan." With a swoop of his mighty wings, the Patriarch joined his children, flying out into the night.

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor was slammed to the ground, catching the blade of Death's scythe in-between his hands. The skeleton pushed downwards, the blade inevitably moving closer and closer to the Druid's heart.<p>

Time seemed to stop, and Jarn'dor thought of Jaz'renthi. He remembered when he had nearly lost her, when Death had almost claimed the woman he loved. Memories of the two of them flooded his eyes, and the love and passion he felt for Jaz'renthi flooded him.

He would see her again. And it would not be in the afterlife.

Jarn'dor began to push back on the scythe, to Death's surprise. In moments, the Druid was standing, and Death found it hard to push back against him.

With a mighty heave, Jarn'dor snapped the blade in two, slashing Death's skull open. The figure fell to his knees, now holding a stick, as Jarn'dor brought the blade down on his skull.

* * *

><p>Jarn'dor's body began to thrash again, and even Vyndakian found it hard to restrain him. Jaz'renthi watched from a distance, as the Druid's body began to still. His mate reached for his hand, grabbing the limp limb.<p>

Vyndakian listened, as the Druid's heart beat, and the pause seemed to stretch on for an eternity. For a moment, the Death Knight thought he had expired.

But then it started to beat stronger. And Jarn'dor's eyes opened.


	11. Into the Mountain

Jarn'dor grunted as a Blackrock Warhound slammed him to the ground, trying to tear off his head with its jaws. The Druid managed to drive his staff in-between the beast's powerful jaws, locking them open. With a mighty twist, he snapped the animal's neck, the dog going limp on top of him. He pushed off the mongrel, rising to his feet.

All around him, members of the Bloodraptor Clan stood, fighting off Blackrock Orcs. This was the third party that had attacked them in the past several days, only slowing their progress towards Blackrock Mountain.

Once Jarn'dor had been strong enough to move, Vyndakian had filled him in on everything he had missed, including what Golion was really up to. The Undead had used Jaz'renthi as a tool, threatening the life of her family unless she obeyed. But even when she did, she managed to secret away two dragon eggs. Whether they were of the Black Dragon's clutch was left to be determined.

Jarn'dor swung his staff clubbing an oncoming Orc; the latter's brains spilling onto the charred ground. The Druid had sent out a call to arms, and the Clan had responded. While their force was small, Jarn'dor was sure it could take the mountain, if they weren't too late.

As the last Orc fell, the Bloodraptors let out a sigh of exhaustion. One Troll strutted forward. He was clad from head to foot in dark, studded leather, his chest covered by plate-mail armor.

"A'right," commanded Alk'wan Bloodraptor, "We need ta keep goin'. Da Mountain must be reached!" Alk'wan was the Eldest of the Three Bloodraptor sons, and Zi'bal hand sent him to his death a few years ago. While Jarn'dor was in the Dream, Alk'wan had returned, and taken his rightful place as Clan Chieftain. Zi'bal, had been slain, but not by his hand. A goblin, named Krinz had gotten to the Warlock first.

Vyndakian wiped the Orc blood off his Runeblade. Jarn'dor's friend was covered from head to toe in heavy Saronite war plates, doing away with his traditional robes. While he would never admit it, the Druid thought that he looked more frightening than the thought of facing Golion himself.

The Clan settled back into a march, some twenty Trolls, Orcs, and Elves marching across the charred landscape. Alk'wan had decided it would be best to attack Blackrock Mountain from the front, in a way that the Dragon's wouldn't expect. Jarn'dor and Vyndakian had both disagreed, but they knew it was probably the safest option.

As Blackrock Mountain came into sight, a cloud was hazed over it, covering the top of the mighty fortress in shadow. But a sound came to the ears of the Bloodraptors, the sound of thousands of rattling bones.

The cloud began to move, and change. Soon, it was travelling down the mountainside, and the roar of a thousand Wyrm met there ears. Jarn'dor looked as hundreds of Undead Dragons barrelled down the side of the mountain, with the single-minded purpose of disposing of any intruders.

"Go," roared Jarn'dor, "Into the mountain!" Before the words left his lips, the Clan raced for the base of the mighty tower, running towards two mighty doors. The Druid was unsure of what was carved on them, but they marked the entrance into Golion's Lair.

The first of the Wyrms reached the Clan, and pounced on a hapless Orc, devouring the poor Warrior, even as he was crushed under the weight of the mighty skeleton. The Clan pushed forward, as the myriad of Wyrms began their assault.

Vyndakian found it hard to move around the magma spewed from the Wyrms mouths, even with his amazing agility. The Death Knight tried to reach out to control one of the Undead Dragons, but he was rebuked, their controller stronger than he.

As the Bloodraptors ran over a stone bridge, spanned across a molten river, a Wyrm with blackened bones rushed at the bridge, slamming through it. As the stone bridge began to collapse, the undead predators swooped down, plucking Clan members from the group.

Jarn'dor rushed into the mountain, as the two mighty doors slammed shut, barely stopping the Blackened Wyrm from slashing apart another Troll. The Druid looked around, the only light coming from deep down in a tunnel. Vyndakian let out a breath of relief, as Alk'wan counted the group. There were only twelve now.

The Clan's moral fell as they realized how many they had lost. Alk'wan tightened his belt, as Vyndakian closed his eyes in thought. Jarn'dor was glad he had not asked Jaz'renthi to come, already it was too dangerous.

"A'right," spoke the Chieftain, "We press on." With fallen spirits, the Clan continued down into the tunnel, the warm light growing brighter with each step. In a short time, they came upon the central chamber of Blackrock Mountain.

They entered a huge cavern, mighty ramparts cutting off paths, the parapets carved with the figures of Dwarves fighting what appeared to be fiery masses. Lava flowed freely throughout the cavern, pooling deep below into a mighty lake of magma. An island floated in the middle of this Molten Span, supported by three massive chains, hewn from Dark Iron metal. At the end of the mighty tethers, were statues of giant dwarves, their muscles rippling from the sheer force of holding up the island.

Jarn'dor looked around. Each portcullis was shut, the only paths available shut off to the Clan. One Orc climbed onto one of the metal chains that tied down the island.

"Hey," he yelled to Alk'wan, "These things look strong enough to act as a sort of bridge!" The Chieftain nodded, and the Clan began to move across to the island. Vyndakian had the rear, staying on the lookout for any trouble.

On the island, was a building hewn out of blackened brick, charred from years of withstanding the heat of the molten fire pouring into the cavern. The Clan sat down next to the structure, as Alk'wan sent ahead a Troll and a Blood Elf scout, the pair entering the building to inspect it.

"I t'ink we'll sleep hea tonight," spoke the Chieftain, sitting beside Jarn'dor. The Druid nodded, slightly uncomfortable near the other Troll. Alk'wan had been Jaz'renthi's mate, and it unsettled the Druid. He quietly wondered if the Chieftain had feelings for her, despite his reassurance that he didn't.

A scream ripped from the tunnel, and the Clan raced down it, weapons drawn. What awaited them, defied their need to fight, as the fight had occurred long ago. Strewn about the room, were corpses of Dark Iron Dwarves, all mutilated and murdered in horrific ways. In the center of the room, the Troll held the Blood Elf, the latter having passed out at the sight.

Alk'wan shook his head. "Bloody wimp," he muttered, as the Scout brought his partner to, the Elf jumping to his feet. Jarn'dor picked up a book, wiping the blood off of it. In the center of the room, was some sort of coffin, a dwarf having been fused to it, the stone melted into his skin.

Jarn'dor opened the book and began to read it, flipping to the last page. It had been some sort of journal, detailing the time of an outpost. It seemed that the Dark Iron had come under attack from the Blackrock Orcs, a faction who they had recently held as allies.

"What does it say," asked Vyndakian, the Elf unable to translate the Dark Iron language himself. Jarn'dor paled as he read it, the hastily written words chilling him to the bone.

"They have taken the Molten Span… We have shut and locked the portcullises but they will not hold for long…The Dragon comes; drums…Orcish Drums in the depths. We cannot get out. A shadow has taken everything. We cannot get out… they are coming."

The island suddenly began to shake, throwing the Clan members off their feet. One of the mighty chains holding the island had suddenly come free, and the island crashed into one of the cavern walls. Another chain snapped free, sending a portion of the island into the lake of magma.

"Go," roared Alk'wan, "Everybody out! NOW!" The Bloodraptors raced through the tunnel, just in time to see building start to sink as the final chain swung free. An unfortunate Elf was crushed by the falling metal, a Troll and an Orc thrown into the magma.

The island was managing to float, as the remaining Clan members scrabbled to the top, leaping to a nearby platform. Two Orcs were unable to make the leap, another caught on the island as it sank into the molten lake.

Vyndakian hit the platform hard, taking the breath from his lungs. He managed to look up in time to see three Wyrms taking off from the Dwarven statues, having melted the hands of each one. The Death Knight bared his fangs, as Jarn'dor helped him up.

Alk'wan furrowed his brows, as the number of fighters had been reduced by half. He looked to the Druid and the Death Knight.

"We be needin' ta split up," spoke the Chieftain, "Da Hatchery and da Dark Iron be t'reats to our success." Vyndakian nodded.

"I can deal with the Hatchery," answered the Death Knight. The Druid raised an eyebrow at Vyndakian.

"Den I suppose I'll take out da Dark Iron leada," responded the Druid. Alk'wan nodded.

"Den da rest o' us will scale da cavern and push up into Golion's Lair. Meet us dere when ya be done." The two nodded as the rest of the Clan started to find foot-holds in the walls, climbing as quickly as they could. One Elf remained behind, a petite and stunning woman.

"I'll go with you Vyndakian," spoke up the female, "You'll need some help getting rid of those eggs." The Death Knight nodded, and clapped the Druid on the back.

"Good luck," spoke Vyndakian. Jarn'dor nodded. "And to ya as well, Mon."

The three split up, as the siege of Blackrock commenced.


	12. The Hatchery

Vyndakian walked down the tunnel with his companion, who called herself Celeste. The Death Knight was uncomfortable with her presence, and how close she always seemed to stand next to him. As the tunnel descended deep into the earth, Celeste looped her arm through Vyndakian's, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Gee," she whispered, "You're ice cold." Vyndakian nodded. If he had been uncomfortable before, he seriously needed his distance now.

The two had been walking down this side path for a few hours, leaving Jarn'dor at the entrance to Shadowforge City. While he was reluctant to leave the Troll, his companion couldn't wait, literally dragging the other Elf down the tunnel.

As the pair progressed deeper into the Molten Core, the air around them began to heat up, and Celeste pressed herself closer to the Death Knight, letting out an occasional purr of content. Vyndakian allowed her this much; at least she was quiet.

The Death Knight thought of the scorch-mark that adorned his face, the wound he had received from saving Jarn'dor at the Caverns. The blackened skin had begun to heal once he had started feeding again. His ravishing beauty was almost restored, but Vyndakian knew there would always be a scar there, that was unavoidable.

The Elf was so wrapped up in his thoughts, that he was caught by surprise when Celeste nearly slammed him to the wall, kissing him passionately. Her tongue rolled around in his mouth, as she hungrily sought to take what she wanted.

"Vyndakian," she whispered, as the Death Knight leaned against the wall, stunned, "Take me… I want it…" Celeste continued to kiss and manhandle Vyndakian, slowly undoing her leather jerkin, her cleavage just about ready to burst out.

The Death Knight had mixed emotions; here was a woman who seemed so faithful to him, so needing to fulfill a hunger he too felt. But the scars Kisha'rowyn left him had run deep, and his heart ceased to beat for this Elf's love. One hand pulled Celeste off of him, the other grabbing the edges of her jerkin and closing them.

"No," replied the Elf, as Celeste whimpered, "Not now. Perhaps when this is all over, we will. But not a moment before then." His companion slowly nodded, a blush coming to her cheeks.

After she had gathered herself, the two continued to trudge down the path. Celeste now stood a fair distance away from Vyndakian, obviously ashamed by her earlier behaviour. But the Death Knight was impassive. What the other Elf had done had reopened the wound his last love had left him.

Never again, would his heart beat for the love of a woman.

The tunnel opened out into the Molten Core, and a wave of heat hit the two like a punch in the face. The caverns were filled with molten magma, the air practically steaming from the heat. Surprisingly, there were hard, rocky platforms, naturally hewn by the lava. There were egg shells everywhere, because all of the Dragon eggs had hatched.

There was not a hatchling in sight.

Celeste looked around. "All the eggs," she murmured. Vyndakian nodded slowly, walking into the Core. The two explored for a time, and all they found were egg shells.

The Death Knight soon became fearful, if all the eggs hatched, were where the Dragons?

The Elf cozied up to Vyndakian again, earning her a cold stare from him. She nuzzled his neck and the Darksworn gave up. If nothing else, she'd be a good meat-shield.

A roar made the two jump, coming from deep within the Core. Celeste looked up to Vyndakian, her eyes big. She leaned up and managed to kiss his cheek.

"This could be it," she whispered seductively, "We could both die here." Vyndakian knew exactly where she was going.

"Then we'll die on our feet," he responded, pulling away from her. She frowned as he led the two deeper into the Core, to face this new evil.

* * *

><p>In the center of the Molten Core, was chained a mighty Giant, hewn of the very rock. Its skin was made of blackened rock, the behemoth's eyes closed tight. Veins of liquid fire coursed through the giant's body, the lava occasionally poking through it's skin.<p>

Mighty chains of Pyrium restrained the giant, two tethering its massive arms to massive stone pillars. It looked as if the great man was imprisoned, but Vyndakian knew better than to assume.

"Who dares disturb my slumber," spoke the Giant, his voice reverberating loud enough to rattle the floor underneath the Elves' feet. The Death Knight drew his Runeblade, and the Giant let out a mighty laugh.

"Turn back," rumbled the molten monolith, "Only death awaits you here." Vyndakian knew that his eyes had turned an icy blue, as Celeste drew two swords out from under her jerkin.

"We are here to end the Lord of Blackrock's plans," answered the Death Knight. The giant laughed the booming sound shaking the walls.

"If he can enslave the last of the Molten Giants," retorted the gigantic being, "What makes you think you can defeat him?" Vyndakian tightened the grip on his Runeblade, as Celeste's attitude began to bubble over.

"Vyndakian is fantastic," she yelled back, "He'll do it!" The mighty creature laughed, as the spiderwebs of magma across its skin burst into flame, chunks of the giants rock-flesh fell to the cavern floor, shattering or melting from the fire leaping from it's skin.

With a mighty heave, the Molten Giant lurched forward, snapping one of his bonds. The pillar crumbled from the force, his fire-skin melting the stone pebbles. His other arm snapped forward, taking a portion of the pillar with him. With this mighty flail, he clubbed Celeste, sending her flying into a wall.

"Then you face me," roared the Giant, as Celeste went limp. "Pyragus, the Brood-Watcher!" Vyndakian leaped into action, even as the Giant swung his flail, slamming it into the ground where the Death Knight had stood nearly a moment before. The Elf scooped up the unconscious woman, leaping aside as Pyragus slammed a fist into the floor, causing portions of it to erupt in a fount of magma.

Vyndakian examined the Elf. She was out light a candle. The Giant roared, swinging his make-shift flail around wildly. Unable to react quickly enough, Vyndakian took the blow, feeling his pauldrons crumple from the force of the blow.

The Death Knight tumbled and rolled, grunting as he narrowly avoided a jet of flame. He set Celeste down in a dark corner of the room, throwing aside his crumpled armor. With the removal of the heavier weight, Vyndakian moved faster, easily dodging the giant's attacks.

"You cannot run forever," warned Pyragus, even as Vyndakian tried to get close to the giant. He was instantly rebuked; the heat was unbearable! Any closer and he might burn up!

The Elf began to let loose bolts of ice, the bolts paling in comparison to the Giant's flame. Underneath the swirling flames, Vyndakian thought he could see some sort of orb, metallic and smooth. With every rush of flame, the thing seemed to pulse.

He didn't have much time to ponder this, as the Giant nearly dropped the flail on the Death Knight's head. Vyndakian turned to the nearest wall and took off at full speed, moving fast enough to actually run up the wall.

"You'll be crushed like the spider you are," roared the Giant, as he let loose gouts of liquid fire. Vyndakian moved too quickly to be hit, slicing off hanging stalagmites from the cavern's ceiling. Every hanging rock connected with the Flame Behemoth, but they all melted and bubbled, passing through and hitting the floor.

Vyndakian dropped to the floor, letting loose a powerful burst of Ice magic, freezing the giant solid. The Death Knight grinned in triumph, until his ice-prison began to crack, shattering. The shards of ice flew in every direction, the Elf managing to parry all of the ones that came his way.

Pyragus laughed, and the flames covering his body flickered again, revealing the orb. Vyndakian shot a bolt of shadow at the surface, and the Giant reeled back in agony, the cavern shaking from his roar. The Death Knight grinned, pressing his advantage.

With deadly speed and accuracy, Vyndakian let loose with bolts of ice and shadow, each one connecting with the heart-like orb. The gap in the Giant's flaming body widened, revealing the metal ball. It seemed to pump fire throughout the body, the waves of heat rippling with every pulse.

Pyragus fell to his knees as Vyndakian let out an inhuman roar, rushing towards the Molten Giant. With a mighty leap, the Death Knight pushed off the ground, flying at least five yards through the air before landing on the Giant's metallic heart. With a mighty heave, he drove his Runeblade down into the orb.

The Elf covered his ears as Pyragus let out an inhuman roar, the flames quickly extinguishing. The Molten Giant pitched forward, the orb-heart all that remained of the giant.

Vyndakian fell to the ground; narrowly avoiding the mighty sphere as it came crashing down. The orb broke through the earth, as gouts of molten fire burst through the floor, the ground flaring up into flames. The Darksworn leapt across the quickly liquefying floor, grabbing the nearly forgotten Celeste.

The cavern quickly filled with liquid fire, and the two barely escaped. Celeste quietly whimpered into Vyndakian's chest. He stroked her hair calmly, setting her down. He ripped open her jerkin, revealing the pale skin underneath. It was clear to him that she was dying, her ribcage caved in from the giant's flail.

The Elf was clearly paling, her lungs crushed by the shattered bones. She reached out blindly for him, her eyes already rolling back in her head.

"Vyn…" she rasped, "My last wish… Kiss me…" She reached up with her lips, and Vyndakian reached down with his, but they didn't meet hers. His lips peeled back, and dug deep into her neck. Celeste gasped as the Darksworn drank deep, removing his fangs and driving them in between her breasts. There, he drank from the blood that had pooled from her heart and lungs, turning the Elf into a husk.

The thing that was once Celeste slumped back into Vyndakian's arms as he ripped off his cloak. He wrapped the body in it, throwing it into a nearby pool of lava. The Death Knight watched as the corpse was devoured in the liquid fire, joining the molten rock.

With a cold heart, Vyndakian turned to leave the Molten Core, the blue-tinge never leaving his eyes.


	13. Twilight Falls

Jarn'dor crouched on the edge of a Dwarven highway, his eyes scanning the path. For hours, he had sat motionless, waiting to implement his plan. Vyndakian and the Elf, Celeste, had left him almost immediately after they had managed to reach the gates of Shadowforge. The gates to the Dark Iron city were immobile, locked shut. But some eavesdropping had him finding out that ambassadors from the Twilight's Hammer would enter the city via this highway.

The Troll twitched a finger, relieving himself of his urge to move. He couldn't risk himself now; he had come too close to defeating Golion already. The sound of soft-soled feet drew his attention down the rode, and he swore rather vehemently.

They were definitely ambassadors of the Twilight's Hammer, but they were surrounded by at least a dozen armed guards, sporting either spears or mighty war axes. There was no way Jarn'dor could take on twelve guards, and still manage to not tip off the Dark Iron Dwarves.

One of the ambassadors broke off from the group stalking over to a rock. Loa be praised, it was a troll, and with a shuffling of robes, the ambassador started to relieve himself.

Jarn'dor snuck over, quiet as a cat. He leapt from shadow to shadow, diving behind the rock the ambassador had decided to urinate on. In one quick motion, the Druid grabbed the ambassador and pulled him behind the rock, smashing his temples with open-palmed hands.

The ambassador's eyes rolled back in his head and he went very still. He'd be unconscious for hours, if the Dark Iron Dwarves didn't find him first. Jarn'dor ripped off the Troll's robe, pulling it over himself. Purple, was certainly not his color.

He stepped out from behind the rock and joined the Twilight's Hammer as they continued their way to Shadowforge. The Troll was disconcerted by the silence, each of the ambassadors as quiet as the guards they were surrounded by. But their journey did not last long, as they soon arrived at the gates of the Dark Iron city.

With a monstrous creak of aging metal, the massive gates began to swing open, Dark Iron Dwarves swarming out to take guard positions. Jarn'dor involuntarily twitched, the urge to run possessing him for a moment. Even as the gates opened to their halfway point, Dwarves continued to pour out from the city, patrolling up and down the highway.

Soon the door to the city slammed against a nearby wall, opening up completely. The group began to walk again, as if they had rehearsed it thousands of times. The more they progressed into the city, the further back in the group Jarn'dor stood, finally poking out the back and stopping as the rest walked on; like he had never even been there.

The Druid looked around. Shadowforge was certainly a marvel; houses and buildings hewn from the rock face, as ornate carvings directed the flow of magma away from them towards the Molten Core. The denizens of the city walked around, greeting each other and cheering just like anyone else would in the world.

Then, it hit Jarn'dor. These Dwarves weren't evil, they were just normal people, trying to make the most out of what they could with what they had been given. The people around him were just trying to survive and prosper in the only way they knew how, and that way was war.

He stayed there, dumbstruck at this revelation, as a Blackrock Orc pushed past him, carrying a whip. The crowd of Dark Iron's parted, as a squad of Orcs dressed in black armor swam through the crowd, carrying a Dwarvish woman. They chained her to a pole in the middle of the city, standing her up. She shrieked in her native tounge, yammering words too quickly for Jarn'dor to translate them. One Orc gagged her with some sort of cloth, as another stepped forward.

"Dark Iron," he roared, "Has our Lord not been reasonable?" The Dwarves yelled and shouted over the Orc, until something else came out from a side tunnel, the stench of decaying flesh preceding it.

The behemoth seemed to be cobbled together from bits of flesh and bone, stitched together by some form of dark magic. One horrible eye twisted out to look from underneath its horned head, mighty wings folded behind it. Its torso was short, like a man's, but the limbs were long and gangly, looking like unevenly stuffed sausages.

It was sexless, but it still dressed itself with skulls and tattered portions of clothing. In one meaty fist, it clenched the hilt of a massive bone; the head of it sharpened enough to turn it into a wicked axe. This weapon rested on the giant's shoulder, as the other, thinner hand pushed through the crowd.

"SHUT UP," screamed the Flesh Behemoth, and the Dark Iron were instantly silent. The thing pushed its way up to meet the Orcs.

"You no act worthy," yelled Coresmasher, "Lord Terrorwing treat you like family!"

"He killed half o' our city," replied a Dark Iron, and for the first time, Jarn'dor took notice. Corpses were strewn about the city, decaying from the heat. Blood was splattered along the walls of homes and stores, reminders of the power Golion held over them all.

"You rebel against him," shot back the Flesh Behemoth, "He give you home here, give you place! He takes it away just as easily!" The Orcs secured a noose around the neck of the female dwarf, as an elderly woman tried to push through the crowd to her, presumably her mother.

"This girl," continued the Orc, as Coresmasher stepped to the side, "Had the gall to venture to the forbidden Hatchery! She tried to steal one of King Ragereaver's eggs!" The Orcs booed and jeered, but the Dark Iron were quiet, all except for the elderly woman, calling out her daughter's name.

One final figure stepped out, wreathed in purple robes. His skin was a charred black, holding a mighty spear in one hand. His muscles bulged out from under his clothing, and his eyes were filled with pure hatred, and contempt for all life.

"Yes," he hissed, as the Orcs bowed, stepping to the side, "This woman defied my orders, and the decrees of our King!" The Dark Iron did not boo or hiss, but they were frozen in absolute terror.

The robed figure, examined the bound and gagged woman. "To defy the decrees of myself is to defy our Lord, and that is an insult to his greatness!" The female dwarf held her head high, even as she was pushed off the edge.

Jarn'dor watched in horror as she tumbled down, and down, towards the lake of liquid fire in the bottom of the chamber. With a sickening snap, the rope went taught, and the noose broke her neck. The elderly woman fell to her knees, crying.

"And no one," continued the figure, "defies Arganol, Lord of Twilight." The executioners left, Coresmasher following behind. They left the body behind for the Dark Iron to pull up, but none of them moved.

The Druid covered his mouth with his hand. This was far worse than he had even imagined. Not only did Golion have absolute power, he ruled his slaves through fear and murder. To top it all off, he had used necromancy, and was consorting with the Twilight's Hammer. He needed to be stopped, now more than ever.

But first, this "Lord of Twilight" needed to be dealt with. Jarn'dor slipped back into the shadows, throwing his disguise over the edge. He stalked Arganol, as Coresmasher soon returned to the Spire, and the Orcs eventually left, leaving to probably go have some drinks or something.

Arganol took many twists and turns on his path, finally arriving at two giant doors. With little force, the Lord of Twilight opened them, revealing some sort of chamber with a throne at one end. As Jarn'dor entered after him, the doors slammed shut.

"You can cease your infernal quiet," spoke Arganol, the man sitting on the stone throne, "If you wish to do away with me, then face me like a man instead of a mouse."

The Druid stepped out of the shadow, and into the light of a flaming brazier. He drew his staff, even as the Lord of Twilight sharpened his spear.

"So, the Druid wakes up from his Nightmares," mused the Dark Figure, as Jarn'dor's vision began to darken, pitching him into total blackness, "Such a shame it followed him."

The Druid whirled around, unable to see anything within a few inches of his face. Suddenly, he was bombarded with images. Images of his closest friends dying, of Golion razing the world. His greatest and unknown fears leaped in front of his eyes, torturing his mind and tantalizing his soul. He fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands.

The cries, the screams of the dying, they were all too much to bear. So many lives rested on him, so many people depended on him. If he failed here, it could be over for everyone, everywhere. The world would fall into total destruction and chaos, as Golion's dark reign spread from the Dark Iron to everyone else.

Jarn'dor forced himself to his feet, leaning on his staff. His vision suddenly began to clear, as the surprised face of Arganol came into focus.

"No, Mon," whispered the Druid, holding the head of his staff out threateningly at the Lord of Twilight, "I be done, wit nightmares."

With a snarl, Arganol leapt from his throne, slicing at the Troll wildly with the serrated spear in his hands. Jarn'dor parried the blow; bringing his staff around in a long sweeping arc. The Lord of Twilight leaped over the wooden pole, swinging his weapon in a futile attempt to decapitate Jarn'dor.

The Druid leaped to side, the spear-head having grazed his cheek. His foe swept his weapon down, and Jarn'dor brought his staff up to parry. Metal cut through wood, and the Druid's stave became nothing more than kindling. He settled into a defensive stance, bringing his hands up, held out, to give him a wider range of movement.

His attacker lunged at him, and Jarn'dor slapped the blade, pushing it away as if it were nothing. He slammed an open palm against Arganol's chest, and watched as his whole body rippled backward, the Lord of Twilight flying backwards and slamming into the throne, the weak stone shattering upon impact. The Druid let out a deep breath, settling back into his defensive crouch.

The man pushed a slab of rock off of his chest, rising to a stand. He let out a brief laugh.

"So," spoke Arganol, "You use Kari'gom, the ancient Gurubashi art of unarmed fighting." He leaped down from the pedestal, grinning. He seemed to blur, suddenly appearing in front of Jarn'dor.

The Druid acted not a moment too soon, as the Lord of Twilight brought down his blade, Jarn'dor caught it in his hands, spinning sideways over the blade. As he was airborne, he let loose with two powerful kicks, strong enough to stun a Kodo.

He landed a safe distance away as Arganol fell backwards, growling and leaping to his feet. The man unleashed a powerful burst of darkness, and Jarn'dor countered with a beam of moonfire.

The two opposing forces collided in the center of the chamber, humming and snapping at their opposing magic. A bead of sweat broke across the Troll's brow as he struggled to maintain the spell, his opponent straining harder than he was. With a shout, the two snapped their beams in opposite ways, each colliding with a different wall.

Neither could continue this kind of punishment for much longer, and Arganol knew it. In one final gamble, he whipped his spear at Jarn'dor, as the Druid settled back into his crouch.

Jarn'dor grabbed the spear by its natural pivot point, spinning it in his hands. With uncanny practice and agility, he turned the javelin back upon its wielder with two-fold force.

The mighty weapon pierced Arganol and sent him flying backwards, pinning him to the wall as the spear-blade was buried to the hilt. Blood flowed freely from his mouth, as his limbs went limp. The Lord of Twilight was dead.

The doors to the chamber suddenly exploded inward, one flying off its mighty hinges. Vyndakian strutted forward purposefully, holding a Dark Iron Dwarf in his hands. He snapped the man's thick neck, tossing the corpse to the side.

"Shame I missed the party," spoke Vyndakian, sheathing his Runeblade. The Death Knight took one look at Arganol's corpse and spit. Jarn'dor nodded.

"Da Twilight's Hamma have a role in dis," replied the Druid, wrenching the spear out of the corpse. If nothing else, it would serve as a weapon until they escaped from here.

"Where is dat elf?" At his question, Vyndakian became ice cold, physically and emotionally. Jarn'dor nodded, assuming that she had died for the good of the Clan, until he saw the dried blood around the Darksworn's mouth. The sound of running feet and clanking mail echoed to him from beyond the shattered doorway.

"How many o' da Dark Iron know we be hea," inquired the Troll, as shouts met his ears.

"Most of them," shrugged Vyndakian. Jarn'dor groaned; from the sound of it, half the kingdom was coming here.

"We betta take off den," he shot back, "before dey figure out who be hea." With a nod, Vyndakian conjured up a Death Gate and the two stepped through.

The world rushed past him, as Jarn'dor plummeted through a black tunnel. Closer, he and Vyndakian moved, closer to the light at the end of it.


	14. Coresmashed

Another Orc fell, as Alk'wan bisected his last foe. He had been fighting for hours, barely able to secure this spot. He, and what had remained of the Bloodraptor, had taken positions just outside what they hoped was Golion's chamber, and they had been fighting every Orc, Troll, Dwarf, and Drake that had come to enter.

One of the nearby Elves collapsed from exhaustion, her petite frame quivering. One of the more heavily armoured Clan members leaned against the wall, wiping sweat from his brow and dousing his face with a water skin.

From the five that had fought up here, four remained. A troll had had the unfortunate death of being eaten by a Wyrm. Alk'wan winced at the memory of the screaming troll, the sounds of his bones crunching replaying over and over again in the chieftain's ears.

The sound of Orcish war drums met his hearing, and the Clan suddenly stood, ready to fight. A scream cut off the drums, as the sound of battle ensuing rang down from the hall they had recently been in. A gurgling roar cut off the drums, and a sickening squish ended the screams.

A Blackrock Orc ran down the hall, screaming in terror. He collapsed at the feet of Alk'wan, his eyes filled with panic.

"Run," he said, "Run while you can. Coresmasher comes to see his master… News from deep in the Molten Core… Run… Run da" The Orcs words were cut off as an axe twice the size of his body buried itself in his back. The sound of booming footsteps reached the Clan's ears, as a mighty behemoth walked down the hallway.

Alk'wan nearly puked from the stench, the smell of rotting corpses and decaying flesh violating his nostrils. A meaty foot came into view, the leg looking like someone had inflated it like a child's balloon. Slowly, the rest of it came into view, and one of the Elves behind him passed out.

Coresmasher roared, grabbing its axe and ripping it from the Orc's back. The corpse clung to the axe, as if the two were melded together.

"Me see you," spoke the Flesh Behemoth, "Me CRUSH YOU!" With a swing of its axe, it sliced clean through a plate-wearing Orc, blood spewing from the corpses legs as his torso went flying.

"Bloodrapta," yelled Alk'wan, even as another Elf passed out, "ATTACK!" The remaining Clan-members leapt into action, attempting to carve Coresmasher to pieces. This tactic proved to be a failure as the Flesh Behemoth crushed the last two members beneath its feet.

The Chieftain bared his teeth. Besides the two unconscious Elves, he was the only warrior left. The giant turned its one-eyed gaze upon the Troll, screaming something unintelligible. Alk'wan narrowly avoided being bisected by Coresmasher's axe, only to end up suffering a full power kick by the monstrosity.

He collided with a brazier, tipping it over. The flaming coals spun away, landing underneath the behemoth's feet. As it stepped on the white-hot stones, Coresmasher screeched, reeling backwards as if its face had burned. Alk'wan picked up a wooden stick, lighting it with the remaining brazier.

With an incredible toss, the torch flew through the air, landing smack dab in the center of the Behemoth's eye.

Coresmasher reached up to swat it away, but its giant hands only ended up driving the torch deeper into its sensitive eye. Soon, the giant was blind.

"You hurt Coresmasher," it roared, swinging its weapon wildly, "Me no see you, but me hear you!" Alkw'an leaped to the side as the monster went on a rampage, stomping around the small chamber, swinging its axe like a madman.

The two Elves began to stir into consciousness, as the Behemoth crushed one under its feet. The male patted his chest, shocked.

"I'm…I'm alright," he shouted, his cry of joy cut off by the giant crushing him under its foot. Alk'wan nearly put his face into his palm, dodging a piece of falling ceiling instead. Coresmasher's rampage could not be stopped, except by death. The Chieftain would see to that. Perhaps he could use this monster's rage against it.

Alk'wan pulled out his longbow, drawing an arrow with black fletching. It had never failed him before, so he hoped it would do the same now.

The Troll pulled back on the drawstring, taking aim. With a 'PSH' the arrow flew free of the longbow, piercing Coresmasher's ear. The Flesh Behemoth wailed, throwing his axe from his hands to cover his pierced ear.

The axe struck the roof, and the old stone began to crumble and shake. The two looked up, as the stone ceiling began to collapse.

"Uh oh," spoke Coresmasher, as a chunk of the stone roof slammed him in the face, collapsing his skull. The giant fell backwards, his spine snapping from the sheer force of the falling rock.

Blackrock Mountain rumbled as the Flesh Behemoth fell to the floor, and thought no more. A Death Gate opened up beside the Chieftain, Vyndakian and Jarn'dor stepping through it.

"Where da fel were ya two t'irty minutes ago," roared Alk'wan, wiping the sweat from his brows. Vyndakian did a double take of Coresmasher, as Jarn'dor pinched his nose to keep the stench from invading his nostrils.

"I took care of the Hatchery," replied the Death Knight coolly, as Alk'wan looked at the Druid.

"And ya took care o' da Dark Iron leada'?" Jarn'dor nodded, turning to look at a mighty stone door. Vyndakian and the Chieftain examined it as well, all enraptured in silence.

Vyndakian took the lead, grabbing the door. With a grunt, he threw it open, and the three entered Golion's chambers.


	15. Into the Dragon's Den

The trio pushed through the doors, into a dimly lit chamber. All around were crumbled pillars, maybe four or five out of twelve holding up the roof. On one side of the room was a throne, raised above everything else. But no one was seated there.

Out towards the balcony, it was still night, but it was only a few minutes before dawn. A dark robed figure stood on it, leaning on the railing. Two large weapons were sheathed in leather across his back, the sheathes decorated with carvings and swathed in a black cloth.

Golion Ragereaver leaned against the stone railing, looking out as the last shreds of the night started to die out in the beginning of day. Vyndakian tightened his grip around the Runeblade, as its carvings flashed ominously. Alk'wan drew his other axe, the two massive weapons sitting heavy in his hands.

"Why fight," spoke Golion, seemingly talking to himself, "When you cannot begin to imagine the depths of my success. Already you think you've come here to kill me, when you've really come here to die."

"Because," retorted the Death Knight, "What you're planning is mass murder." The Lord of Blackrock laughed.

"No," he replied, his voice just above a hiss, "What I'm planning is a new world; one without war, without suffering. Under my reign, Azeroth will be born into a new age."

"Ya be mad," yelled Alk'wan, the warrior tightening his grip on his axes. Golion turned to look at them, and his eyes were not the amber they had been in public. Where his eyes should be, were two deep pits of endless black.

"No," replied the Undead, "I am a revolutionary. With my genius, all war will end. Isn't that what you strive for, Alk'wan, is peace?" The Chieftain seemed to start, caught up by the man's words. Jarn'dor bared his teeth.

"What we strive fo' is peace," shot back the Druid, "Not the destruction you will cause!" Golion cackled, turning back to look over the railing.

"I will upset the Wyrmrest Accord," explained the Lord of Blackrock, "And my children will breed. In time, there will only be the Terrorwing Flight. No more war amongst the Dragons.

"Then, we will dominate the lesser races, kill them if we must, but they will all join my kingdom. And there will be peace… Eternal peace."

"Dat no be peace," roared Jarn'dor, "Dat be domination and destruction of culture!" Vyndakian placed a hand on his friend's chest, preventing him from pouncing on the Lord of Blackrock.

"I brought him back," whispered the Death Knight, "I'll put him back inside that coffin." Two eyes peered out of them from the shadows, an emerald pair, and a shorter, purplish pair.

"Yes you did," mused Golion, "And you used so much power that our destinies are one…" The two beings slinked from the shadows, a Goblin, and an Elf that looked suspiciously like Vyndakian. Around one wrist, were bands signifying them as Bloodraptors, but around the other wrist, were dark tattoos.

"Your children, are my children," hissed the Undead, as Kaoru and Ezza stepped on either side of Golion, hissing at the trio. Jarn'dor looked to Vyndakian, and he could tell that the Death Knight was being devoured by his rage.

"Let them go," he roared, "This battle is between us four!" Golion cackled, and Vyndakian's children hissed, looking far more feral.

"I'm just evening the odds," replied Golion, and all hell broke loose.

Kaoru and Ezza leaped at the trio, as Vyndakian drew his Runeblade, taking off at top speed. He seemed to pass through the two of them, moving fast enough that his body blurred. Kaoru locked blades with Alk'wan, as Ezza leaped onto to Jarn'dor, hissing and tackling the Druid to the ground.

Golion threw aside his cloak, revealing midnight-black armor. He drew two glaives, locking swords with the Death Knight. They bared their teeth at each other, and began a dance of death.

Alk'wan disengaged from Kaoru, as the petite Elf hissed. In her hands were two, wicked swords, the pale torch-light gleaming off of them. She spun, leaving a shallow cut across the chieftain's face.

The Troll pressed his attack as the Elf tried to recover, driving the woman back. She was as experienced as the Warrior, blocking each blow. Her physical strength was waning, however, her small frame shaking with each of Alk'wan's powerful blows.

Jarn'dor ripped Ezza from his face, throwing her to the side. The little Goblin was suddenly enveloped in shadows, throwing bolts of darkness at the Druid. He leapt backwards, firing bolts of Moonfire.

The opposing spells collided, extinguishing each other. The two spellweavers stalked around each other, Jarn'dor examining his foe, while Ezza snarled and bared her little Goblin teeth, the small child looking slightly intimidating.

The two paced for a while, before the Goblin let loose with a mighty blast of shadows, taking the Troll by surprise.

Vyndakian pushed his blade, having grabbed it by the hilt and the blade itself. Golion fought back with equal strength, their weapons locked together. They broke apart, dancing away. The Death Knight seemed to recognize Golion's weapons, but they clashed again, sparks flying off the metal instruments of death.

"You know these weapons," hissed the Undead, "These are the weapons of the Betrayer…I made sure that the Warglaives of Azzinoth wouldn't fall into the wrong hands." Vyndakian locked blades with Golion, entering another power struggle.

If those weapons were the legendary Warglaives, then no one would survive.

Alk'wan grunted, as Kaoru tackled him to the ground, her knees driving into his stomach. She knocked away his axes, wrapping her small hands around the chieftain's throat. She squeezed, choking him slowly.

The Troll began to black out, but he landed a wild punch, knocking the wind off of Kaoru. The Elf tumbled off, and Alk'wan breathed in greedily. He slammed his fists against her temples, knocking out the petite woman.

Jarn'dor flew backwards, smashing through a pillar. Ezza hissed again, drawing a wicked dagger and leaping on top of the Druid. She plunged the knife into his shoulder, ripping a roar from the Troll's throat. He caught her wrists, and began a struggle with her. Whatever Golion had done to her, had made the Goblin child stronger than anything he had ever faced.

Two hands appeared on either side of Ezza's head, and slammed against her temples. The Goblin went limp in Jarn'dor's arms, as Alk'wan picked her up, setting her to the side.

The two Trolls picked up their weapons, and ran to help the Death Knight.

Vyndakian grunted as he managed to push off Golion, Jarn'dor and Alk'wan arriving by his side. He shot a look over his shoulder, and saw the unconscious forms of his daughters. The Elf locked eyes with the Undead, as he cackled.

"I grow tired of these games," hissed Golion, and he slammed both of his weapons against the ground. A shockwave threw the three heroes backwards, hitting the floor hard.

Jarn'dor looked up as the Lord of Blackrock's form began to shimmer and change. His bones blackened, and grew, twisting and tacking shape. His armor vanished, as the Warglaives shone brightly, blinding the trio.

In moments, before them stood a gigantic Magmawyrm, liquid fire burning in his belly and blackened bones rattling. He was encased in golden armor, a black spell book hanging from his chest piece.

"Now," roared the Dragon, "You face Obsidion Terrorwing, Master of Blackrock!" The beast spewed magma, the trio managing to dodge it just in time. Alk'wan and Vyndakian charged forward, trying to land blows on the beast. Their weapons bounced harmlessly off the enchanted armor, the mighty plates constructed from the Warglaives of Azzinoth.

The Druid looked around, as the Dragon swept the two away. He spied a chain sitting in a corner, and got an idea.

"Vyndakian," he yelled over Obsidion's roar, "Alk'wan, keep him occupied!" Jarn'dor raced towards the chain, grabbing it.

"You cannot hide your schemes from me," roared the Undead, flaring his wings. The turbulent wings brought up by them nearly swept the Death Knight off his feet; Alk'wan flew away, his leather armor too light to keep him grounded.

The Druid grabbed the chain, swiping the swords from Kaoru's immobile form. He drove one sword through the first link in the chain, and impaled it to the wall. Jarn'dor leaped up a nearby pillar, and pushed off. He was airborne for no more than a few moments, until he landed square on the center of the Dragon's spine.

Vyndakian let out a mighty shout, as he slammed his sword into Obsidion's ankle, crushing the armor and locking the joint. The Undead roared, and swept the Death Knight aside, the Elf colliding with some fallen rubble.

Jarn'dor leaped from Obsidion's back, using the chain to swing around and under the Dragon's midsection. He leaped up from the beast's locked ankle, pushing off from the twisted metal.

The Druid was unstoppable as he leaped up the monolithic wyrm's neck, jumping through Obsidion's open jaws with the chain. The Troll tumbled and dashed, pulling the chain hard around a pillar. The Dragon was pulled back onto his hind legs, exposing his chest and the dangling book. Jarn'dor drove the other sword through a link in the chain, trapping the beast.

"Vyndakian," he shouted, "Now!" The Death Knight rose up from the rubble, gripping his Runeblade tight. With a shout of his own, Vyndakian threw the weapon, and all watched, as it pierced the black tome.

Jarn'dor was thrown backwards from some sort of explosion, Vyndakian covering his eyes. When the dust settled, Golion limped towards the balcony, holding his wrist. The Death Knight roared, charging at the Undead.

Before the Druid could cry out, the two fell over the balcony's railing, plunging towards the ground below.

Golion wrapped his hands around Vyndakian's throat as the Death Knight punched him, blow after blow connecting with the side of his head. The two grappelled for a time.

"What would have been sweeter," hissed the Undead, "was if I could've taken that bitch of yours with us." At this, something inside of the Death Knight snapped, and he was filled with a fury that would have put Sargeras to shame.

Vyndakian struck out, caving in Golion's skull with his fist. He grabbed the walking corpse, slamming its face against the mountain, grinning darkly as it shredded Golion. With one final heave he threw the Lord of Blackrock earthward, reaching out and grabbing a rocky outcropping.

The Death Knight's arm nearly snapped, his Darksworn strength being all that kept him together. He watched as Golion slammed against the Mountain, plunging into the river of liquid fire.

The last he saw of the Undead, was his hand, clawing for escape from the burning magma.

With a sigh, Vyndakian began to climb back up the Mountain, a heaviness resting in his soul.

Jarn'dor and Alk'wan roused the unconscious women, their tattoos having vanished somehow. Ezza held her head as Kaoru groaned.

"Ohh…. Where are we?" Alk'wan began to fill them in as Jarn'dor looked back at the balcony. Everyone was silent for a long while.

"I can't believe he be gone," whispered the Druid. Ezza balled up into Kaoru, crying. The Elf hung her head, her face in the Goblin's hair. Alk'wan hung his head, as Jarn'dor looked over the edge of the balcony. The group mourned for a long time, before a grunt broke the silence; a gauntleted hand grasping the railing.

"I can't believe you left me to climb up the fucking mountain by myself," growled Vyndakian as he pulled himself over the railing. Ezza and Kaoru looked up, and ran to hug their father. Alk'wan chuckled and clapped him on the back.

"Good ta see ya, Mon," spoke the Chieftain, grinning. Jarn'dor joined the group hug, tousling the Death Knight's hair. Vyndakian swatted away the Druid's hand, chuckling. He kissed the tops of his daughter's heads, as the sun broke over the horizon, bathing the land in a new day.

"Let's go home," said Vyndakian, "The Dead, are going to stay dead this time."

* * *

><p>Wiigarg dismissed his scrying eye, the useless tool vanishing. He had received his orders from Lord Ragereaver just before the interlopers had attacked, and it was then that his eye had failed him. He had heard the ensuing fight, and it must have been glamorous.<p>

The eye had reactivated as Golion had taken the Death Knight with him over the edge, to see his Lord fall into the river of lava. No one could have survived that.

Worst of all, every ambassador from their allies had seen it. In his chamber in Utgarde Keep, the Netherwing, Twilight Dragonflight, Vrykul, and their mysterious visitor had watched as Golion had died.

"What now," hissed the Twilight Ambassador, the purple drake digging out gouts in the floor. The Netherwing Ambassador swatted the smaller Dragon with his tail; the Drake hissing at the ethereal Dragon.

"Indeed," added the visitor, his speech coming out in clacks and chirps. The tall figure wore a heavy cloak, its towering form hidden from view. The Vrykul beside it looked uncomfortable in its presence, shying away.

Wiigarg had been given the honour of sitting upon Golion's throne after the Magmawyrm was dead. He had not guessed it would be so soon.

The Orc Warlock stroked his chin in thought. Here, were the leaders of armies still loyal to Ragereaver… With himself as Regent, Wiigarg could use them to further his own needs… his own schemes.

"We will continue where Lord Terrorwing left off," replied the Orc, as everyone in the room flinched at the name of the Dragon's true identity.

Years ago, Obsidion Terrorwing had been the bane of the Eastern Kingdoms, ransacking cities and destroying temples for nearly twenty-eight centuries. But he had been rumoured to have been slain by a Half-Elf; the same Half-Elf that had been his physical guise.

"We shall watch his clutch," continued Wiigarg, "And when they hatch, we shall destroy Azeroth. And all shall tremble in our wake."

* * *

><p>Two Dark Iron Dwarves sat outside their mountain home, around a roaring campfire. No one in their kingdom could understand what had happened today. All of Golion's most trusted had perished, and the Lord of Blackrock himself was nowhere to be seen.<p>

The Blackrock Orcs had fallen into disarray, their leadership and purpose lost. Bodies had been discovered everywhere in the mountain; non-Dwarf bodies.

So, a message had been sent to Queen Moira Thaurrissan, and reconstruction had begun. It would be a long while before their kingdom was restored to its rightful glory.

The two Dwarves laughed and fooled around. It had been a long time since any of the Dark Iron could do this, and they relished in every moment of it.

The river of magma began to bubble and hiss, but the dwarves paid it no mind, too caught up in their revelling. Something broke from the lava, and crushed the dwarves.

It was the claw of a Magmawyrm.

Slowly, the Undead Beast pulled itself from the liquid fire, flaring its wings. With a mighty roar that shook the very foundations of the mountain, the Dragon pushed off from Blackrock Mountain, flying north.


	16. The Darksworn Knight

_Enjoyed reading about Jarn'dor and the Bloodraptor Clan? Check out the sequel, The Darksworn Knight, and learn what happened after The Lord of Blackrock fell_

_Here's an excerpt from the first chapter, The Death of Lies  
><em>

Figures danced around the roaring fire, the beat of drums and the chants of voices flooding the small valley. The Bloodraptor Clan celebrated in the traditional matter, beside a bonfire, the lapping flames high enough to burn away at the sky. Trolls, Tauren, Orcs, Elves and Goblins all laughed and drank, telling stories and goofing around.

Vyndakian was laughing as the Troll named Zalaman told a story of how he had stolen some fruit as a child, picking up one of the Orc youngbloods in his hands, handling the child like a delicate gourd. In the Death Knight's arms was a stranger to the Clan, but someone he had held close for years.

Trayste Ashward laughed, her voice like the peal of bells. He had met her when he had first joined his Paladin order, Arcanus Illuminadum, as a child. She had wandered down from her room in the Temple, and the two stared at each other in the gardens for what seemed like hours.

As they grew closer, her father, the Archpaladin, had done everything in his power to keep them apart. Even with this the two had grown closer, continuing after Vyndakian had been married. Everything had been great until his family had been murdered.

A clap on the shoulder roused the Elf from his thoughts, as Jarn'dor Gurubashi sat next to him. The Druid grinned at his friend as Zalaman tossed the child up, catching him in his arms. The small group laughed at the bemused look on the young Orc's face, as his mother picked him out of the Troll's arms, scolding him.

They all roared with laughter at this, Jarn'dor wiping a tear from his eye. Trayste cuddle into Vyndakian's chest, trying to muffle her laughter. Even Zalaman chuckled as the mother took her child away, the young Orc muttering under his breath.

"Come mon," said Jarn'dor to Vyndakian, "Ya must have a story ta tell us. Afta all, ya been livin' da longest." The Death Knight closed his eyes. His memories had been broken after joining the Lich King, forgetting most of his earlier life. Since he had joined the Clan, snippets of them had been coming back. Already he had remembered how to play an instrument called a guitar, and Trayste… He had remembered everything about her.

The Elf stood up, tousling his mate's hair. He walked over to Zalaman, the Troll shuffling away so that Vyndakian could sit at the head of the group. With a great sigh, he began to talk.

"My friends, some of you know me, and some of you do not. But tonight, I will tell you all a story. This is not a pleasant tale, as it is of revenge, and murder. It is also a tale of how one man can sell everything for one love. Sit, my brothers and sisters, and I shall tell you of how my Order, Arcanus Illuminadum, was destroyed.

"I was once a Paladin, with a wife and child. My life was not perfect, and my family hated me, but I was in love. I had always been in love. But this love was forbidden by my superior, the Archpaladin Ashward. For it was his daughter, a person I had seen grow up as I had.

"One day, I returned from a mission, which had failed horribly. All of my Brothers had died, and I had been the only to return. The Archpaladin had soothed me, told me all was well. And so I returned home, to watch as it burned down in flames.

"I caught the marauders, and I saw that they had been of my Order… My Brothers and Sisters had turned against me. And so, I returned to the Temple. The Archpaladin spoke down to me, as if I were a child. He expelled me, stripped me of my armor, my weapons, and my rank. I became lost in absolute anger and hate, wandering.

"I traveled far, far north, and the first time I came to my senses was in a snowstorm. A voice spoke to me, told me I could have the power to sate my need for revenge, for one thing. I would need to give up my eternal soul, and never again walk the path of the light.

"To the surprise of the Order, I returned. But I did not return as a Paladin. I returned as a killer. That night, Acanus Illuminadum, was destroyed…"

* * *

><p><em>16 Years Ago<em>

Vyndakian walked forward, his sight blinded by rage. Everything in these Eversong Woods withered at his touch. He was Death itself, and he would enter the Seed of Lies, and put out its maker.

Two Paladins stood in front of the gates to the Temple, their golden armor reflecting the pale light of a handful of torches. All across the stone wall were mantled torches, the beacons giving only a small form of light in the moonless night.

The Death Knight pushed out from the bushes, walking on open ground. It was not long before the Paladins spied him, their hands gripping the pommel of their blades. Vyndakian had no words for them, instead commanding the blight he now controlled to sweep forward.

His cold aura extinguished the torches, as his plague extinguished their lives, the disease eating away at the Elves' flesh. The Death Knight places his hand on the mighty stone door, taking the time to examine the carvings upon it. They were smooth, and intricate, weaving around each other like tree roots.

The Elf chuckled, as the lines formed a shield, to signify the protection the door gave this holy place. No shield would save these betrayers from his wrath.

Vyndakian placed a palm flat against the door, channeling his power. With a simple push, the mighty door flew off its hinges, the ancient stone tumbling and rolling across the Temple's courtyard. It crushed women, children, and Knights alike, as the came to rest against the opposite side of the Courtyard.

He drew his Runeblade, and all hell broke loose.

_Keep your eyes peeled for The Darksworn Knight, coming soon!  
><em>


End file.
